


ever fallen in love (on national TV)?

by ganymede_elegy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Too Many Characters to Tag, bachelor!jon, contestant!sansa, football/soccer player!jon, it's a bachelor au, slow burn i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganymede_elegy/pseuds/ganymede_elegy
Summary: When Robb signs her up for The Bachelor, she nearly goes into an Arya-level rage blackout.When she learnswhyhe signed her up for The Bachelor, she actually does. She manages to throw a (poorly aimed) bagel at his head at Sunday breakfast (to Arya and Rickon's delight and her mother's horror) before she realizes what she's doing.“If you love Jon Snow so much, why don'tyouapply to go on?”or, Robb signs Sansa up for reality TV because his favorite football player has been (reluctantly) wrangled into being the Bachelor
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 1492
Kudos: 1183





	1. Week 1

When Robb signs her up for _The Bachelor_ , she nearly goes into an Arya-level rage blackout.

When she learns _why_ he signed her up for _The Bachelor_ , she actually does. She manages to throw a (poorly aimed) bagel at his head at Sunday breakfast (to Arya and Rickon's delight and her mother's horror) before she realizes what she's doing.

“If you love Jon Snow so much, why don't _you_ apply to go on?” she screeches, she doesn't care that her voice is almost at a decibel only dogs can hear.

“I would, but _The Bachelor_ is real regressive and they definitely don't allow men on and I don't know if Jon Snow even swings that way,” Robb says, hiding behind Jeyne (who gives him a glare and steps out of the way) and he has to add on, “and also I'm dating Jeyne, the love of my life.”

“Jon Snow _might_ swing that way,” Arya says through a mouthful of bagel that Sansa thinks is actually the one she flung at Robb and _why_ is Arya eating off the floor when they have a dozen more perfectly clean, non-floor bagels? “Do you remember those photos of him with that model guy? Satin what's-his-face?”

“None of this is helpful!” Sansa stomps her foot (no one can bring out her angry, petulant inner child quite like her siblings). “I am _not_ going on that stupid show just because some football player Robb has a boner for is the Bachelor.”

“ _Stupid show?_ ” Now it's Jeyne's turn to be offended, mouth open in a look of betrayal (and yes, fine, she and Jeyne are Bachelor buddies and she goes over Jeyne's apartment every Tuesday and they drink wine and watch the show and they even have a league going with some of their friends and coworkers but this is _different_ ).

In the end, it's _Arya_ who convinces her to go on.

Her application had been approved (which is how she found out in the first place that Robb had signed her up) and she gets through the rounds of interviews, the whole time trying to remember Arya's points.

_You broke up with Harry six months ago and haven't even tried to date again. It'll be like a vacation, you might get to travel to another country if you make it far enough. You can unwind from social media for a while. You might even be able to promote your Etsy store or something._

There's not a lot of time between the application approval and being whisked to a hotel and kept under lock and key, but there's enough for her to start a Google search on Jon Snow. Sure, she knows _who_ he is, but she doesn't _know him_ know him, you know? She knows he's on the Direwolves and she knows he's one of their star players, considering how much Robb (and everyone else in Winterfell) talks about him like he's some sort of god, here to bring the Direwolves back to their former glory.

But to be completely honest, Sansa has very little interest in football herself, never cared much for a bunch of dudes running around a field trying to kick a ball into a net. And they couldn't even use their hands? Seems dumb to her, their hands are _right there_.

She gets about thirty seconds into Googling Jon Snow before she starts to feel guilty, because once she's past his basic wiki page and his season stats, she starts to get to some _stuff_ that she feels like she shouldn't be looking at, even if it's technically public knowledge. His season-ending injury, his very public downward spiral and drunken fight in a bar a few months after. His breakup with his ex, some punk singer named Ygritte who looks like she would stab you in the throat rather than talk to you, and Sansa wonders how Jon is going to go from _Miss Trash-a-Hotel-Room_ to the kind of women who end up on _The Bachelor_.

Women like Sansa.

Oh no, she's _one of them_ now.

She closes the Google tab and tries not to think about Jon Snow at all.

* * *

She has watched girl after girl get out of the limos and with each passing one, her anxiety only gets worse. There was a girl dressed like a wolf, a girl in a wedding gown, one that rode a _unicycle,_ and even one that wore his jersey (and _only_ his jersey and Sansa wonders if they're going to have to black box her, the jersey did _not_ cover much).

And then the producer who is crouched on the floor of their limo is shooing her out the door and she swallows against her very dry throat and manages not to stumble on her exit. She smooths her dress out and doesn't know what to do with her hands as she walks up the drive to the huge mansion lit with glaring spotlights and the pavement is wet, did they hose it down? It definitely hadn't been raining earlier. Why is the walk so long? Why are there so many cameras? _Why did she agree to do this?_

To be completely honest, she's so caught up in not looking like an idiot that she hadn't even noticed the actual reason she's here until she's standing in front of him. She's seen pictures of Jon Snow before but she thinks they don't quite do him justice (or maybe it's that she's never seen one of him in a tux with his hair pulled back and his beard trimmed so short).

Ok, here's where she says something. She and her producer, Sam, had gone over her introduction line again and again. What was it? Something about being Northern, something about reminding him of home or some nonsense? They practiced this line, she's got it.

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out and she realizes in horror that her mind is absolutely _blank_. She is so aware of the cameras, the lights, this stranger she's standing in front of, the millions of people who will be watching this and _judging_ her and laughing at what an _idiot_ she is and-

“Hey,” his voice breaks her out of her thoughts and it's low and calm and he reaches out and grabs her shaking hands. “Breathe.”

She nods and lets out the breath she had been holding and he takes an exaggerated deep breath and she mirrors him and they do it a few more times until her head has cleared a bit and her hands are no longer threatening to vibrate off her body.

“Hi,” she says and tries to smile and she hates the way her voice wavers.

“Hi,” he says back and the corner of his mouth tilts up and he's still holding her hands and she thinks she should pull them away but she honestly doesn't mind.

“I'm nervous,” she breathes, like that isn't the most obvious thing on the planet.

“Yeah,” he huffs out a small laugh. “Me too.”

She has to remind herself that he's a famous football player _and_ the Bachelor and he's probably not nervous at all and just trying to make her feel better, but he sounds so _sincere_.

His thumbs are rubbing the back of her hands and she doesn't think he even realizes he's doing it and neither of them are saying anything and she _knows_ she should be saying her line but for the life of her she can't remember it and instead they're both just _standing_ here in silence holding hands.

Then there's some producer gesturing wildly from behind one of the cameras and she realizes at the same time Jon does that this has gone on too long and so she says “guess I should go in?”

“Seems to be the popular thing to do,” he nods and she lets out what has to be _the_ most embarrassing giggle she's ever produced. _Why_ is she like this?

He finally lets go of her hands and she nods and steps back and she's a few steps away when he calls out “hey,” and she turns and he says “remember to breathe.”

_Breathe_. She can do that.

It isn't until she's inside and sitting on one of the uncomfortable couches with a glass of champagne in her hand that she realizes she never even told him her _name_.

So not only did she make an absolute _fool_ out of herself, but he also has no idea what her name is and now she's definitely going to be one of those girls who gets sent home night one

It doesn't matter, she tries to tell herself and she wonders why she feels so awful. Who cares if she gets sent home night one? Maybe they'll barely even show her and she can get out of this with little to no notice from the general population. And then she can go home and tell Robb and Arya _well, I gave it a shot, didn't I?_ and she can go back to living her life and she never has to think about Jon Snow or his earnest grey eyes or his pretty mouth or his steady hands or his deep voice ever again.

She's going home tonight and she's totally fine with it.

Totally.

* * *

As far as she can tell, she was out of the limos almost dead center of the thirty women in the room. Right in the middle, didn't even tell him her name, completely forgot how to speak. Great.

_You don't care_ , she tells herself, except there's a small piece of her that _does_. Not necessarily for the Bachelor himself, but just for the sheer fact that going home night one is _embarrassing_. But that would be just like her, right? Pretty, but completely forgettable. Boring. ( _Gods, why are you so uptight?_ Harry's voice sounds in her head.)

Back in Winterfell, in high school, she'd been the most popular girl in her class, voted best smile, prom queen. But here, she realizes she is nothing compared to these women. There's a brunette next to her with soft curls and a quirk to her lips that makes her look like she has a secret that you desperately want to know. And there's the blonde in the corner who might be the most beautiful woman Sansa has ever seen in her life, it's actually unreal. The woman talking to her is just as beautiful, with big dark eyes and a rope of thick black hair hanging in a braid down her back and curves for _days_. Another blonde, shorter, with eyes that look almost purple in the light, is ethereally pretty.

And even the ones that aren't _punch-you-in-the-face gorgeous_ seem intelligent and outgoing and just... _better_. There's really nothing like looking around a room full of women and realizing you're the least interesting of the bunch to really knock your self esteem down a few rungs (not that Harry hadn't done that already, but it turns out she still had a bit further to fall).

The girl sitting on the other side of her is a slip of a thing and Sansa learns her name is Gilly. She's pretty and seems a bit shy, but she's easy to talk to. Within minutes, Sansa learns Gilly has a son back home and she can tell Gilly is anxious about that – about leaving her son and what it will look like to the rest of the world. Sansa's glad she sat next to Gilly because she suddenly realizes that maybe she isn't the only one here with doubts and insecurities.

“Did you hear he got signed for _fifty million dragons_ last season?” the brunette next to her is gushing to a girl on the loveseat opposite them. “ _And_ he's fit.”

“I heard he lost his sponsorships because of the injury,” another girl leans in and whispers. “That's why he's doing this.”

“I thought it was damage control because of that fight,” someone else offers.

“I heard it was to make his ex jealous.”

Sansa tries to tune them out and instead turns back to Gilly.

“Your producer is Sam, right?” she asks and Gilly nods. “Me too.”

“He's nice, isn't he?” Gilly sighs. “I'm so glad I have him and not Loras or Mel. They're terrifying.”

They've been sitting around chatting aimlessly for what feels like hours when the host, Renly, finally breezes in with a charming smile. Behind him, Jon Snow enters and if she didn't know any better, she would say he looks like he's walking to the gallows. But that's insane, right? Star footballer, Bachelor, gets to have thirty women's undivided attention? He must be loving this.

Right?

* * *

“Sansa, you haven't talked to him yet,” Sam whispers, having pulled her aside. “You need to get out there.”

_Out there_.

What Sam actually means is _go interrupt his conversation with whatever girl he's currently talking to. Shove yourself into the middle of their chat and make him talk to you instead._

“What's the point, I'm going home anyway,” she mutters back and takes another sip of her champagne even though it's a terrible idea. She's had two overfilled glasses now and no food for _hours_ and she knows that's the whole point and yet she's falling into their trap anyway. She's already going home tonight, what she really doesn't need is to be _that girl_. The girl who gets drunk and makes a fool out of herself. Sansa knows she's a lightweight to begin with and the champagne is already making her head dizzy. She can see Sam eyeing the glass like he wants to take it from her, but he doesn't (likely because he's not allowed to, if the way the head producer, Cersei, has been gleefully ordering the crew to refill drinks is any indication).

“That's not true!” Sam argues. “He was really into you! Stared at you the whole way as you went inside! He even told Renly he didn't get your name and he sounded really disappointed.”

He's supposed to say that, she knows. She overheard Loras telling some other girl the same kind of thing – _he was clearly interested, he thinks you're the hottest one here_. She needs to remind herself that the producers are not here to be their friends, they're here to make good TV. She's watched the show enough to know that only a few girls get a good edit, the rest are fodder for drama clips and GIFs on Twitter. From the few interactions she has had with Cersei Lannister, she has no faith the woman cares if _any_ of them look good.

Speaking of, the woman is talking to the head cameraman and whispering and her eye catches Sansa and she _smirks_ and for a moment Sansa feels heat rush to her face. It feels like Cersei knows every thought in her head, every single insecurity, knows she's too afraid to go talk to Jon Snow, too afraid to get in front of the cameras for real.

“Fuck it,” she downs the last of her champagne, shoves the empty glass into Sam's hand, and then marches out of the mansion and into the backyard. They're not near the pool and she weaves her way through the gardens until she sees a gazebo set up with twinkling lights – she _knows_ that gazebo, had watched Bachelor Daario have his first kiss with his eventual winner (and later, ex-fiance) in that gazebo.

She steels herself, head feeling just a tad bit fuzzy, enough so that the twinkling fairy lights have turned soft and slightly out of focus and she can ignore the cameraman who has been following her and the others with their focus on the couple inside the gazebo.

“Hi,” she manages to say in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear and she's proud of herself when it doesn't shake (she almost eats it, though, heel sinking ever so slightly into the soft grass, her balance already compromised by two glasses of champagne on an empty stomach, but she manages to stay upright).

“Hi,” Jon immediately angles his body away from the other girl (which one is it? She can't tell, one of the blondes, she's honestly trying _not_ to look at her) and towards Sansa and this gives her the courage to step forward.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” she asks and she almost laughs at getting to use the _most_ cliché line. She said it for Jeyne, wants her to be able to check off a box on their Bachelor bingo cards. Maybe she'll be able to squeeze in _I'm not here to make friends_ , too, before she's kicked off.

She needs to calm down, the alcohol and adrenaline have made her delirious, she's about to start giggling on camera with Jon _fucking_ Snow and the entire world watching.

“You don't mind, do you?” Jon asks the woman next to him, but he's already standing up and moving out of the gazebo.

Sansa tries very hard not to look at the woman, but she can't help it and her eyes flick over to the blonde and if looks could kill, Sansa is very sure she'd burst into flames just from that glare alone. Then her line of sight is blocked as Jon comes to stand in front of her and she _really_ must be drunk because he is way prettier than she remembers (though, to be fair, she had been so nervous before, it's possible she didn't even register him, really).

Behind the cameras, a tall woman with blonde hair cropped short gestures at them silently and points off to the side and Jon says, “um, let's head over here,” and they leave the gazebo and the angry blonde behind.

(It's alright, she tells herself. She's going home tonight anyway, it's not like she'll have to deal with her new arch-nemesis for longer than a few more hours, right?)

“Hi,” she says again after they've settled themselves onto a bench conveniently surrounded by rose bushes.

“Hi,” he grins and she almost snorts out a laugh but manages to keep it in check.

“How's your night?” she asks, trying to remember her etiquette. It's not like she's never been tipsy at a fancy party and had to hide it from her parents before, but this is different, with the cameras and the ring lights and _all the people staring at them._

“Fine,” his voice sounds confused for a moment and he watches her face carefully and she wonders if she has something on it (can't be food, she thinks, she hasn't eaten anything). “You don't seem as nervous anymore.” He says it cautiously, and she's not quite sure why he's being weird ( _is_ he being weird? She doesn't actually know him at all).

“Oh, I've had a few glasses of champagne,” she says before she realizes it's a _terrible_ thing to admit. Not just to the Bachelor, but also _on camera_. “I'm a bit of a lightweight.” _Shut up_ , her brain screams, but her mouth is _not_ listening. “It really helps with ignoring them.” At this, she waves her hands at the cameras and operators and lights and producers around them.

“I see,” Jon doesn't seem to be paying attention to... well _everything_ going on around them, he seems strictly focused on her and it's _unnerving_.

“Is it legal for them not to feed us?” she babbles. “I mean, I guess there's a table with fruit and veggies, but that really doesn't help, does it? I would kill for any sort of carb right now,” There's a detached part of her brain that is _screaming_. She's going to be the drunk carb girl now. That's going to be her _thing._

“Like what?” Jon's voice interrupts her panic and she looks away from the producers and back at him. She _must_ be drunk because there is no way he's _actually_ smiling right now. She's hallucinating that.

“Waffles,” she decides on a whim, “with ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” he grimaces and she gasps in horror.

“You've never had it?”

“Who puts waffles and ice cream together?” his grimace is still firmly in place and she shakes her head at him.

“Geniuses. I can't believe you've never had it! This is a tragedy.”

He laughs, a short burst of a thing, but _oh_ his smile is beautiful and it takes her breath away. And then his smile fades and he's just _staring_ at her with such intensity and... did he really just look at her lips? That _cannot_ have happened.

“I still don't know your name,” he says, voice suddenly _much_ deeper than it had been before and _gods_ it does something to her.

“Sansa,” she breathes out in a pathetic rush of air. The alcohol and his intense stare are turning her into a puddle, she's going to melt right here on this bench.

“Sansa,” he repeats and yup, there she goes; she's drunk and a complete goner for Jon _fucking_ Snow.

Robb is gonna be so jealous.

Speaking of Robb... “You should tell girls their name is pretty,” she blurts out, remembering the advice she had given Robb back in middle school when he'd wanted to ask out Dacey Mormont.

“That right?” Jon grins at her and she nods sagely. “Well, Sansa, you have a very pretty name.”

“What a charmer, you are,” she gasps like the words are a surprise to her and Seven _save_ her, is she _flirting_? She is, she's actually flirting (or trying to). With the _Bachelor_.

And suddenly she's dragged back into reality and the cameras and lights and people are back (somehow, she had forgotten them all, too caught up in Jon Snow's calm voice and his stupid pretty face). She feels herself tense up and Jon must notice because suddenly he's got her hand in his and he gives it a squeeze.

“Where in the North are you from?” he asks, his voice a tad sharper than it had been, less flirty and more _I'm trying to distract you from the fact that at least five people and three cameras are watching us_.

“Winterfell,” she says (like a normal person), and then (like an idiot), “go Direwolves!”

“Ah,” he nods and sits back a bit. “You're a fan?”

“No,” she snorts before she realizes how insulting that must sound. “I mean,” she tries to backtrack, “obviously I'm all _go Direwolves_ because it's the home team, duh, but I just don't watch it on my own, you know? My dad and my siblings are more into it...” she's rambling, _terribly_ , and she manages to cut herself off before she does something stupid like admit that her older brother is a drooling fanboy or that Arya had (somewhat) jokingly asked her to get Jon's autograph before she got booted from the show. And she's _definitely_ not going to tell him about Theon joking that she should poke holes in the condoms if she got to fantasy suites because getting knocked up by a football star meant she would be, in his words, set for life. (She remembers whacking him in the face with a couch pillow and storming out of the room after that. She'd had her phone in her hand, ready to call production and tell them she couldn't do it, when Arya had found her and convinced her not to back out.)

She is saved from embarrassing herself further when some girl shows up and asks to steal Jon and Sansa doesn't even wait for his answer, she gets up with a mumbled _goodbye_ and walks as quickly as she can away from that disaster (not _too_ quickly, though. She has made a fool of herself enough tonight and the last thing she needs is to trip and fall into the pool or something).

* * *

Back in the living room of the mansion, she's standing off to the side and staring at the rose resting on a tray on the table in the center of the room. So is every other girl, so at least she's not alone in that.

The first impression rose.

Well, she's certain she's made an _impression_ , it just wasn't a good one.

She freaked out, got drunk, talked about waffles, insulted his job, and then ran away from him. A truly stellar performance.

All around her, girls are talking about their own conversations with him and she wants to sink into the floor or learn how to time travel and never come here at all.

“ _We talked about how many kids we want.”_

“ _I told him all about my animal rescue.”_

“ _We both love rock climbing.”_

“ _I wore this apple lip gloss because he said in an interview in GQ a few years ago that he liked apple pie...”_

“Do you think she started to stalk him before or after she found out he was going to be the Bachelor?” a voice murmurs from right next to her, low and thick with amusement. Sansa turns to find the brunette with the secretive smile there.

“Definitely before,” she whispers back, which makes the girl laugh.

“Margaery,” she says, holding out a hand.

“Sansa.”

“So who do you think gets the rose?” Margaery asks her, raising her champagne glass to her lips elegantly. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa can see a cameraman hovering and she holds back her initial reply of _definitely not me_.

“I'm not sure,” she hedges. “All the girls here seem so amazing, it must be hard for him to choose.”

She's proud of that answer, mostly because she knows they'll never air it.

“It can't be Falyse,” Margaery says and nods at the apple lip gloss girl (the one who had only worn his jersey for the limo exit. She's now covered in a robe, Sansa assumes because they didn't want to have to black box her for the entire night). “Way too desperate. Did you hear she memorized _all_ of his stats going back to high school? I overheard her talking to him and she was clearly just reciting stuff she memorized about football.”

Sansa's about to defend the girl, maybe she's just nervous, maybe she _needed_ to memorize talking points, but when she looks at Falyse again, she's got a compact and is applying a thick layer of what must be her apple lip gloss while simultaneously eyeing the first impression rose and Sansa sort of loses all of her arguments.

“Might be Dany,” Margaery drops her voice even lower. “Asha said they kissed.”

“ _Already?_ ” Sansa can't help the surprise in her voice, though she's not sure why. She's been watching this show for literal years, there's always at least one kiss on the first night, especially with the Bachelors.

Her head is reeling. Not only is she tipsy, not only has she made a fool out of herself, but now Margaery is throwing out names and information left and right and she can't keep up. She'd only learned a few girl's names but Margaery seems to know _everyone_.

“I'm surprised you didn't know,” Margaery hums, “since you interrupted them and all. She was _pissed_.”

“Oh,” Sansa breathes, her eyes scanning the room and finding the blonde woman with the elaborately braided hair. “Well they weren't kissing when I got there!”

Sure enough, the blonde, _Dany,_ catches her eye and gives her a glare and Sansa wishes she had accepted that third glass of champagne some intern had tried to hand her.

“Asha's a sports writer, so maybe they could bond about that,” Margaery continues. “But I honestly don't see it. Maybe Arianne? She's a model, but like a real one, not an Instagram one.”

On and on Margaery goes, spouting out names that Sansa has no face reference for, and all she can do is stand there and nod like she knows what's going on. And then suddenly Jon has walked into the room and immediately every girl stops talking and some of them greet him and Falyse leans forward and _winks_ at him.

She hears Jon stutter out a greeting and he picks up the rose and her heart goes out to him because he looks _so_ uncomfortable. The producers clearly placed the rose in the center of the most populated room, where he'll have the most eyes on him when he retrieves it. She watches him nod his head at the group, barely making eye contact with any of them, and then he makes his exit towards the back garden and nearly every girl in the room groans in disappointment.

“Ok, who's not in this room?” she hears Margaery say, but Sansa doesn't really listen to the rest. She doesn't have the energy to try and figure out who he's going to give it to.

Later, a blonde woman comes in holding the rose (Val, she learns from Margaery) and Sansa can't really be surprised. Val is the woman she'd seen earlier in the night that is possibly _the_ most beautiful person she's ever seen in real life. Of _course_ Jon would pick her.

She really should have taken that third glass of champagne.

* * *

Throughout this whole, terrible process, this is the most humiliating part, she thinks. Standing on a riser with twenty nine other girls, waiting for her name to be called. Or, more likely, waiting for her name to _not_ be called.

While they're all waiting around for production, she can feel a lump rise in her throat as she imagines it – imagines standing here at the end with the seven other girls that will be cut tonight.

She just needs to hold it together. What she can't do is _cry._ She thinks back to all the times she and Jeyne had sat on the couch and giggled at the sobbing girls night one ( _oh please, you barely know the guy!_ ).

But now that she's here, it's more than just _the guy_. It's everything. It's hours and _hours_ of filming in one night, sitting around in a stiff dress that you had to buy yourself and makeup and hair you had to do yourself, feet aching from being in heels for so long, minimal food and way too much alcohol. It's the lights and the cameras and the crew herding you about like cattle. It's being judged based on _one night_. It's having that judgment shown to millions of viewers.

She's always been an easy crier and she can feel the tears welling up already and she digs her freshly manicured nails into her palms to stave them off. She is not going to cry. She is _not_ going to give Cersei the satisfaction.

Jon is brought into the room and she barely listens as Renly explains the process. She focuses on the sharp pain in her palms and stares straight ahead and tries to breathe even and deep. She can get through this. She keeps her eyes fixed to the wall and tries to think about anything else but being here.

There's a sudden jolt as the girl next to her shoves an elbow into her ribs and Sansa turns to look at her. The girl's eyes are wide, flicking back and forth between Sansa and the front of the room, and when she turns to see what the girl is looking at, she finds everyone staring at her, including Jon and Renly. In Jon's hand is a rose and...

“Sansa, he called your name,” Gilly hisses from the next riser down and that... that can't be right. There's still a pile of roses on the table, that would mean she's one of the first to be called and that... can't be right?

But her feet move anyway, and girls step out of her way as she makes her way down, and then she's standing in front of Jon and she hears _will you accept this rose_ and she almost wants to laugh again.

“Uh, yes,” she fumbles and he gives her a grin and hands her the rose and then (she's apparently _committed_ to looking like an idiot tonight) she throws her arms around him in a hug. To her immense relief, she hears him let out a surprised laugh and he hugs her back and then Renly is shooing her back into place. She ignores the glares from Dany and Falyse and instead tries to focus on not grinning like a besotted fool for the rest of the ceremony.

* * *

In the end, she doesn't know any of the eight girls who end up going home, but she feels bad for them (well, maybe not the unicycle girl or the one she'd overheard defending Roose Bolton's politics).

She's glad Gilly and Margaery get to stay, so far they're the closest she has to friends here, and she's even happier to learn that she and Gilly will be bunking together, along with two others (Missandei and Roslin, she learns).

She nearly groans in relief when she's able to slip out of her heels and unzip the dress (which was too tight to begin with and hadn't become any more comfortable with her alcohol bloating) and she barely manages to take off her makeup before she falls into bed. The sun is _rising_ outside and she honestly cannot believe how long they'd filmed.

Exhaustion weighs on her and all she can think is that she wants to call Arya and tell her _everything_. Arya would make her feel better, Arya would be able to calm her nerves. Arya would make her laugh. But she can't, no phones, no connection to the outside world. She can't even anxiety scroll through Instagram or Twitter for hours on end to distract herself.

Finally, she gives up and falls asleep, determined that the next time she's on camera, she'll do better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this happened.
> 
> This started off as a prompt for sunbeamsandmoonrays on tumblr (prompt was "breathe"). I wrote it right after the Bachelorette finale and since the Bachelor is starting up in a few days, I'm in a *mood*.
> 
> I also figured I'm real stuck on _white knuckles_ and why not start out the new year on something a lot lighter, right? This is my second attempt at a less angsty, more humorous multi-chapter, so I hope you all enjoy the nonsense!
> 
> original prompt on tumblr [here](https://cellsshapedlikestars.tumblr.com/post/638329837977780224)


	2. Week 2

The next day, they're awoken around noon and _encouraged_ to hang about in the communal spaces and, of course, to talk about Jon and his many fine qualities. Sansa learns quick enough that the best place to escape the cameras is the bathroom, unless you go in with another girl and then it appears to be fair game. At least they're going to be left alone at night.

Val is quickly taken by production for her confessional and it's no surprise there. Sansa watches her producer, Loras, hand her the first impression rose as they leave the room, presumably so that she's holding it while on camera (to her amusement, she sees Val roll her eyes, which Sansa can only agree with).

The other girls quickly fall into trying to figure out who is going to get the first solo date, which Sansa feels is a waste of time. Whenever she watches, it's never who she expects it to be, so she's sure it will be pointless to try and guess. Instead, she turns to Gilly and says “I feel like I got run over by a bus. How are you so awake?”

Gilly laughs over her plate of eggs (production has seen fit to actually let them eat today) and says “I have a four year old, I haven't slept in _years_. This is nothing.”

They're joined by two girls named Mya and Myranda and for the first time since she arrived at the mansion, Sansa finds herself relaxing. Gilly, Mya, and Myranda are all fun and easy to get along with and they talk about their jobs and where they're from (Gilly is also from the North, but like, the _north_ North) and Mya and Myranda grew up a town apart in the Vale (somewhat near Eyrie where Sansa did her internship, but she doesn't bring _that_ up).

“I wonder what Val did to get the rose,” Margaery says as she sits herself down at their table. Sansa has seen her moving about the mansion all morning and she almost laughs and asks how many people Margaery has asked that exact question to.

“Well, they're both Northern,” Myranda reasons. “She told me she gave him some line out of the limo that was like _I know we're far from the North, but I'm here to remind you of home_. Or something like that.”

Mya, Margaery and Gilly all giggle at this but Sansa feels her blood run cold, because that is almost the _exact_ line Sam had told her to say. Her stomach roils and she pushes her plate of crepes away.

“Like she's the only one,” Margaery scoffs. “They really cast North heavy this season. No offense,” she adds in Sansa and Gilly's direction.

“I think he's already cut a bunch,” Gilly muses, looking around the room. “It's me and Sansa, Val, and Alys?”

“Wylla,” Mya adds.

Margaery's about to say something else when Sam appears at their table.

“Sansa, your turn,” he says it like an apology, like he's either sorry to interrupt or sorry to make her face the cameras again, and she almost feels bad for him until she remembers that he apparently gave her a line that they also gave to another contestant. She nods and stands to follow him.

She's not going to bring it up, she decides as they walk, except she apparently can't help herself. “I heard what Val's limo exit line was,” she tries to make her voice casual (it absolutely isn't). Sam seems to deflate.

“Yeah, I heard it too. I swear I didn't know they'd given her the same one. I wouldn't be surprised if Loras heard yours and gave it to her because she was out before you.”

“So I would have looked like an idiot or a copycat,” Sansa concludes and Sam nods. “Well, I guess I showed them by completely forgetting how to speak.”

Sam laughs at that and ushers her through the mansion to a private room and sits her in front of a camera and a bright ring light.

“I swear I'm on your side,” he murmurs as they clip a mic pack on her and she nods because really, what else can she do? Sam is her producer and she has no choice but to hope he really does have her best interest at heart.

* * *

When the first date card arrives, they're all shuffled into the living room and made to stand around as Cersei has a quiet, shy girl named Myrcella read the card out to the rest of them. It's a list of ten names, including Gilly, Mya, and Myranda, but Sansa isn't on it and she can't decide whether she should be relieved or not.

“ _Love is a funny thing_ ,” Myrcella concludes with a flourish, pink staining her cheeks as some of the girls whistle and clap.

“Wonder what we're doing,” Obella says aloud after her producer, Mel, prompts her to.

“ _Funny_ ,” another girl, who's name Sansa doesn't know, says. “Oh gods, what if we have to do a comedy show?”

A couple of the girls going on the date groan – it's a common enough group date and Sansa can only feel relief that she's not on it. She remembers back a few seasons, they did the same thing, and she and Jeyne had to put the TV on mute because listening to the girl's standup was _painful_.

“Glad we're not on it,” Margaery whispers to her, but on her other side, Gilly is pale.

“You'll do great,” Sansa tells her. “No one's expecting you to _actually_ be funny.”

* * *

While the first group date is away, a card comes to declare that Arianne will be getting the solo date this week and Sansa also feels relief at this. She isn't sure she really wants to face Jon one-on-one.

She's confused, honestly. She'd acted like a complete idiot the first night, got drunk, pretty much insulted him and his career, but for some reason he called her (she found out later) second, right after Arianne (well, third if you count Val's first impression rose).

She knows from things she's read online that the producers have some say in which girls stay (she has a feeling Falyse is a producer pick), so maybe they're keeping her around and hoping she keeps getting drunk and making a scene?

That _has_ to be the reason she's still here.

* * *

The second group date that week includes Margaery (which she appreciates) and Falys (which she does not). It also includes Dany (which she doesn't know how to feel about).

Dany was upset with her the first night, but Missandei (who speaks a dozen languages, why is she even _here_ ) has become her friend and anyone Missandei likes can't be terrible, right? Missandei is sweet and Sansa has had no issues with her. She decides she's just going to try and stay out of Dany's way and hope whatever misunderstanding there was just blows over. She really, _really_ , does not want to get into some sort of feud. She does _not_ want to go on a two-on-one.

The group date card ends with _'get ready to score!'_ and Margaery rolls her eyes and says “gee, I wonder what we're doing.”

“I think we're playing football,” Roslin (sweet, dumb Roslin) says with absolute sincerity.

“No shit,” Asha mutters and is promptly elbowed by an Arianne who is trying hold back her own laughter.

Last night, Arianne had come back with the solo date rose, not that anyone was surprised, and told them she and Jon had gone on some helicopter tour that honestly sounded horrid to Sansa. She is _not_ a fan of heights and would much rather have a ground-based group date, thank you very much.

* * *

Sure enough, they're dressed up in pink jerseys and short-shorts and bused out to a field where Jon and two men in Direwolves uniforms are waiting for them.

Robb would be so upset with her for not knowing who the other two are, she thinks as she steps off the bus. She can already tell this is going to be miserable – the sun hasn't even reached midpoint in the sky and it's already unbearably hot, Cersei decided to come along (which is never a good sign for anyone), and Falyse had doused herself in a thick cloud of apple spritz that she clearly got at a store for pre-teens.

(“She is not letting this apple pie thing go,” Sansa had grumbled on the bus as she and the others had opened every window within reach.

“Was the apple pie the focus of the interview or something?” Asha had asked before trying to fit her head out the tiny window in an overdramatic bid for fresh air.

“I wonder if he likes _eating_ other kinds of pie,” Margaery had winked and waggled her eyebrows and Sansa had looked at her, confused.

“Like pumpkin?”

Asha had snickered and Margaery had let out a loud, abrupt laugh, patted her head, and said “oh sweetheart,” much to Sansa's ongoing confusion.)

On the field, she squints against the sun. One of the Direwolves is a giant of a man that she thinks she recognizes as the goalie. The other, she has no idea (she can practically _hear_ Robb screaming in agony all the way from Winterfell that she's going to embarrass the Stark name in front of not one, but _three_ Direwolves. He signed her up for this, though, it only serves him right).

They're forced to stand on the field while the cameras are on the opposite side with Jon and the other two Direwolves and it is _torture_. She can feel herself already starting to sweat and she's thankful Sam had packed a plethora of sunblock ( _just signal if you think you need more!_ he'd told her with just a tad too much enthusiasm and she could tell he was trying to make up for the limo exit thing).

Hopefully this doesn't go on too long. Maybe she should've eaten more breakfast, who knows if they'll be fed. Probably not. Cersei is a food-hoarding monster.

Gods, why did they have to talk about pie so much on the bus? Now she wants pie, though honestly she's more of a key lime or a lemon custard girl. Apple's fine, she guesses, but-

“Oh!” she gasps as the meaning of Margaery's joke hits her. She turns, mouth agape, and hisses “ _other kinds of pie_?” and Margaery throws her head back and laughs loudly at the sky. “Gross!” Sansa tries to maintain a stern face, but she can't keep her giggle in, though she knows her face is likely _bright red_.

“If you think it's _gross_ , you've never had it done right,” Margaery grins and pokes at her side and Sansa slaps her hand away with an indignant gasp (she's not going to admit that Margaery is probably right. No, not probably, _definitely_. Harry had given it a half-hearted go a time or two, but that was it).

“Something you'd care to share with the class?” Cersei's sharp voice interrupts and when Sansa looks up, Cersei, the other girls, the producers, and ( _of course_ ) Jon and the Direwolves are watching them. One of the camera guys is hustling over, likely thinking he's missing some sort of drama.

“Oh no,” Margaery says breezily, voice projecting like a practiced stage actress. “I'm just corrupting our sweet Northern princess, don't mind us.”

Well, if she weren't flushed red before, she _absolutely_ is now; the heat on her face has nothing to do with the sun and she steadfastly does not look at anyone. Is it possible to spontaneously combust? She's pretty sure she's read articles about it.

(She needs to remember that Margaery is _loud_ and likes the attention.)

“I don't think Cersei likes you,” Sansa whispers to Margaery after everything has settled. Margaery looks over at the head producer and rolls her eyes.

“Please, I can handle her. If she thinks she's getting rid of me, she has another thing coming.”

“I guess you're planning to be the last one standing?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Margaery whispers back, a smile curling her lips up, her I've-got-a-secret smile. “I don't plan on being _a_ bachelorette. I plan on being _the_ Bachelorette.”

Oh.

Well.

To be honest, being the Bachelorette isn't something Sansa had even considered, though she knows, logically, that the next one will likely be picked from the girls this season, unless they decide to do another surprise celebrity edition. She risks a quick look at Jon, who is standing with his teammates and the producers and running a hand through his hair like he's frustrated and she can't imagine having to be the center of a show like this.

Eventually, Renly steps out from under his shade umbrella (hands his ice cold mojito to an intern) and gives the cameras the introduction to the date.

“You'll be split up into two teams of five,” he announces smoothly. “Your team captains, Grenn and Tormund,” he gestures at the Direwolves, “will pick the teams.”

“I'll go first!” the giant man, Tormund, announces with a grin (Renly looks annoyed at the interruption, but doesn't correct it). “Red!”

It takes her a moment to realize that _Red_ is her, and that he's picking her for his team.

He's picking her _first_.

“You sure about that?” she blurts out and this makes the giant laugh and he nods. “Your funeral,” she mutters, but he must have heard that, too, because he laughs again and claps her on the shoulder when she moves to stand next to him (the move jostles her and she tips back a bit before finding her balance).

“Us redheads gotta stick together,” he tugs on her braid with a wink. “You'll be my good luck charm.”

Grenn picks Asha (smart), Tormund picks Alys (Sansa's whispered suggestion that he gleefully agrees to), and by the end, she's happy with her team that includes Margaery and Dany, but not Falyse. She's hoping that being on the same team as Dany will help to fix whatever rift there might have been between them, or, at the very least, not ramp up any competitive feelings.

“Alright,” Tormund brings them into a huddle. “No pressure, but I've got a bet going with Grenn and so you're gonna need to win or I have to give up drinking for a _month_. Do you want that for me? No.”

“Aren't you supposed to say something inspirational?” Alys asks and Tormund looks offended.

“That wasn't?”

“Tormund, stop stalling!” the other Direwolf, Grenn, calls and they turn to see the other team already taking their places on the field. “Prepare for sobriety!”

“ _That's_ what you bet?” she hears Jon groan as she and the other girls head out to the field. “I am _not_ listening to him whine for a month.”

Asha is, unsurprisingly, the best out of all of them, though Alys turns out to be a fair hand at it (or, not _hand_ , because you can't _use_ your hands), and Dany, though not athletic, is incredibly competitive.

“This is awful,” Margaery says at one point, about forty minutes into the game. Even she, despite her impeccable makeup and hair (and despite the fact that she has barely moved), has broken out into a sweat as the sun climbs higher above their heads.

“I'd rather take this than the helicopter thing Arianne had,” Sansa tugs at her shirt to try and get airflow under it. She can feel all her flyaway hairs frizzing out and sweat is trickling down her neck. When Margaery gives her an incredulous look, Sansa shrugs and says “I hate heights. I think I would've passed out if I had to go up in a helicopter.”

They're interrupted by a sharp cry and in the center of the field, Falyse is on the ground clutching at her leg.

For the first time, Sansa is thankful for Falyse's dramatics because the _injury_ means all the cameras are on her and they get to take a break. Sam trots onto the field and hands her a water bottle and gives her a solid coating of sunscreen.

“Please tell me I'm not the _most_ embarrassing person,” she pleads.

“Well...” Sam throws a look over at Falyse, who is still on the ground. Production has forced Jon to go care for her and Sansa can't imagine what that apple spray must smell like after running around for an hour in this heat.

“Ok, not including Falyse, please tell me I'm not the most embarrassing.”

Sam laughs. “You're doing fine, honestly. And Tormund loves you, so that's a plus.”

In the center of the field, Jon's producer, Brienne, is now overseeing the effort to get Falyse off the ground, which includes a lot of Falyse clinging onto Jon like a starfish as he pulls her up. She leans on him as he walks her off the field and, much to everyone's annoyance, she gets to spend the remainder of the game sitting on a bench with him while the rest of them are forced to run around for another hour.

By the end, no one is in a good mood, except Falyse and maybe Asha, and Grenn's team is declared the winner (Tormund drops to the ground in defeat, head in his hands). It turns out that even down a player, Asha was still the only thing their team needed to win.

“I told you it was a mistake to pick me,” Sansa tells a still kneeling Tormund.

Jon makes his way over and gives her team a sheepish smile and says “I assume they told you guys only the winning team gets to go to the night portion?”

There's a round of vague agreement as they all pretend to be cool with it and Sansa tries very hard to ignore that she's the closest to Jon and that she's sweaty and gross and she's sure all her makeup has melted off her face _and_ he had to witness her incredible lack of athletic ability.

She hates that she cares.

“Alright, well,” he seems uncomfortable, but he lingers a bit and when she finally gets the courage to look at him, he's looking at _her,_ and she manages to give him her brightest smile.

“I'd hug you, but I'm disgusting and I won't subject you to that,” her mouth says, to her absolute and utter _horror_. From the ground, Tormund barks out a laugh and really, she could use some of that spontaneous combustion right about now. Jon is much too good of a person, though, and instead of looking thoroughly put off by her, he gives her a small smile and nods before heading back towards Brienne.

“ _Seven_ ,” she whispers to herself, putting her face in her hands. Alys gives her a sympathetic look, but doesn't offer any words of comfort. Margaery is too busy laughing with Tormund and Dany's face is twisted into a frown and... honestly Sansa _cannot_ for the life of her remember the name of their fifth teammate and at this point it's too late to ask. Some girl from Old Town, she thinks.

She and the other nine girls pile on the bus back to the mansion – she and her team to wallow in their loss and the other five to get ready for the night portion of the date.

She's miserable the entire ride back, replaying that brief interaction with Jon over and over and telling herself she doesn't care.

* * *

“Am I going to have to force you to go talk to him at every cocktail hour?” Sam sighs when he finds Sansa at the buffet.

“Probably,” she says after she's swallowed the piece of melon she'd been snacking on.

“Sans, come _on_ ,” Sam pleads and takes her tiny plate filled with fruit from her. “If you don't, Cersei's gonna have my head. Do it for _me_?” When she doesn't answer, he eyes the plate and a small smile quirks his lips. “What if I promise to sneak you in some _real_ dessert?”

“That's not fair,” she gasps. Sam knows about her sweet tooth, she mentioned it in one of the pre-interviews, how much she likes sugary desserts.

“You name it, I'll get it in for you,” he promises and she huffs out a _fine_ and storms off to find Jon, deciding that Samwell Tarley is a cruel and unjust man. He might look harmless, but he's a sadist, deep down.

She finds him out in the gardens again, it seems they like to film there the most, and he's sitting with Asha and they look comfortable together, she can hear bits of conversation about football and she's not surprised. Asha had returned the other night with the group date rose, which she deserved (Falyse had thrown a fit that she hadn't gotten it for being injured).

When she steps into the clearing, Jon stops talking mid sentence and turns to look at her.

“Hi,” she starts (as she always seems to, like she forgets that other words exist when she's in front of him). “I was wondering...”

She barely gets those few words out before Asha stands. “Who am I to stand in the way,” Asha sighs, shoots Jon a grin, and then starts to head out, giving Sansa's dress a once over as she goes. Sansa might be self conscious about that, but if there's one thing she _isn't_ anxious about, it's her wardrobe. All her dresses are beautiful and perfectly tailored (she knows because she did it herself).

Jon stands as she makes her way to the bench and he only sits after she does and she knows it's probably just manners but it makes her stupid heart flutter anyway. Her stupid heart and this stupid, _stupid_ crush she has on Jon _fucking_ Snow.

She thought she was over this. She's a twenty five year old woman, not a silly teenager, and she should be _over_ this. She had assumed that her more measured response when she first met Harry when she was twenty one had been a sign that she'd matured and grown out of her girlish crush phase and yet here she is.

“So,” she begins once they're both sitting, “what are we supposed to talk about?”

He smiles and brings a hand up to rub at his beard and says “anything, I guess. Though there's been a lot of conversations about how much everyone loves love.”

“What kind of love? Love stories? Being in love?”

“I have no idea, honestly,” he sighs in defeat and she can feel a (stupid, _besotted_ ) smile break out on her face. “There's just a lot of talk about love.”

“Well, I for one also love love. It conquers all, you know.”

“Oh, is that what the Andals used to take over Westeros then? Love?”

“They do say it's a battlefield,” she shrugs.

“Here I thought it was advanced weaponry.”

Gods, she _needs_ to stop grinning at him like an idiot, but she can't help herself.

“Is this the dumbest conversation you've had all night?” she tries to joke.

“Not even close,” he laughs and off to the side, they can hear Cersei loudly clear her throat (and she wonders if Jon isn't allowed to say anything negative about the women?)

“New topic then. How's Tormund doing?”

“Miserable,” Jon grins. “He was already upset because he thinks he'd make a better Bachelor. I told him he could have it-”

A louder, more aggressive throat clearing from Cersei cuts Jon's sentence off and he seems to stiffen a bit and his face falls into a neutral sort of expression.

“Obviously I'm honored to have been chosen to be the Bachelor.”

“Obviously,” she says after a beat and now there's a strange tension in the air. She had _finally_ been relaxing in front of the cameras and crew, but she finds herself feeling stiff and uncomfortable again. Jon also seems uncomfortable and without really thinking it through, she reaches out and grabs his hand and he looks up at her in surprise.

“Hi,” she says and he smiles again.

“Hi.”

Neither of them say anything else – she's not sure why Jon doesn't, but _she_ doesn't because she's sure that everything she _wants_ to say would be quickly stifled by Cersei. She wants to say _I understand_. She wants to say _you're doing better than I would in your position_. She wants to say _I don't blame you if you don't want to be here_. She wants to say _I'm sorry you have to do this._ But all she can do is squeeze his hand and try to telepathically push her thoughts into his brain (she understands this does not work, but she tries anyway).

“Excuse me,” a voice sounds from behind them and they both turn to see Dany standing there, glass of champagne in her hands and a smile on her face (that Sansa thinks is incredibly fake but maybe she's just projecting). “Hate to interrupt, but Jon, could I steal you?”

“Uh,” he turns to look back at Sansa and she gives him an encouraging smile and a hand squeeze. “Yeah, sure,” he finally says after a moment and Sansa stands to leave. As she passes Dany, she gets another (fake) smile and gives her own in return.

* * *

“Sansa.”

They've just started the rose ceremony when Jon calls her name and she, once again, stands there dumbly for a few seconds before making her way down the riser and taking the rose from him. Throughout the rest of the ceremony, she tries to calm her nerves and tries not to crush the rose in her hand, her fingers clenched too tightly around it.

Arianne, Asha, and Mya all have date roses, and Sansa is relieved when Gilly, Myranda, and Margaery get theirs. In fact, she's happy with almost everyone who gets a rose except Dany. Falyse is called last (Renly makes Jon pause before he calls her name, clearly for the drama of it).

Three women are cut (are they really down to nineteen already?) and those staying are all handed glasses of champagne and Dany makes some toast about finding love and happiness that Sansa thinks is supposed to be inspirational, but she's barely listening.

She also barely listens to Falyse rage about getting the last rose on their way up to their rooms (she does hear enough to know that Falyse comes to the conclusion that Jon is playing hard to get, _or_ trying to hide how much he loves her, she can't seem to decide between the two).

She does listen when Gilly discovers her son's favorite stuffed dog wedged deep in her suitcase and sobs for fifteen straight minutes in the bathroom, Sansa's arm around her shoulders ( _he must have put it in there while I was packing_ ) _._ Missandei and Roslin join them on the tiled floor and they talk until the sun is almost up about their families as Gilly hugs Rufus to her chest.

It's terrible of her, but she's almost grateful for the distraction, because by the time they finally crawl into bed, she's too exhausted to think about Jon or the show or anything else before she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok first of all, I am _thrilled_ so many of you seemed to enjoy this! If you couldn't tell, I've watched too many seasons of the Bachelor. I want to thank you so so much for the positive response this got, I was not expecting it
> 
> second, I want to address the relationships between people in this fic. Obviously there are people involved that are related in canon, but shouldn't be here (Margaery & Loras, Cersei & Myrcella, Asha & Theon). In this, none of them are related, except for Cersei & Myrcella but they aren't mother & daughter, I'll get into it in another chapter. I didn't really think to mention this in the first chapter, whoops!
> 
> third, I know there wasn't a crazy amount of Jon/Sansa interaction in this, but that's mostly because it's still early on and there's still a ton of girls, that will change as we go on!
> 
> (also yes, I did write a good portion of this while watching the Bachelor premiere last night)


	3. Week 3

Sansa Stark comes to three conclusions over the next week.

The first is that Jon Snow absolutely and decidedly does not want to be the Bachelor.

She assumes (not that she's been obsessing and thinking for _hours_ about this) from the things she had read online prior to the show, gossip in the house, and Jon's own actions, that it's likely some bid to rebuild his image after his drunken brawl a few months after his injury. None of the girls in the house seem to know _why_ he had punched a random guy in the face, but it had absolutely happened. A lot of the girls speculate that he'd lost his brand deals and was even threatened with suspension after the incident, though Sansa can't be sure how much of that is true and how much is gossip. (Honestly, they don't have access to phones or the internet, they aren't allowed books or TV or music, what _else_ are they supposed to do?)

The second, a direct assumption based off the first, is that Jon Snow is not actually looking for a wife.

To be fair, she's not sure how many Bachelors and Bachelorettes are _actually_ using the show to find a spouse, but at least they're open to it, she figures. Jon, though, is being forced to do this for some reason and she doubts he has any intention of _looking for love_. It's contractual obligation at best.

The third (and perhaps the most pitiful, taking into account the second point) is that she is hopelessly crushing on Jon Snow.

Truly, madly, _deeply_ , crushing. Heart-eye-emoji, posters-on-your-bedroom-walls, writing- _Sansa-Snow-_ in-a-notebook, teenage girl _crushing_. It's a real blast from the past, to be quite honest, and she tries to tell herself that having a crush is fine. Look how many she's survived over the years – from rockstar Waymar Royce to dashing Oberyn Martell to hunky Jaime Lannister (who, ironically enough, is Cersei's brother and used to be the host of this show until it went public that he was sleeping with contestants). She's had _plenty_ of crushes and she's still here. None of them did the damage that Harry did. That Mr. Baelish did. Not even close.

She can handle a crush.

* * *

_Love is timeless_ , the date card reads.

This week she's in the first group with eight other girls including Gilly and Myranda and, once again, Dany (she's starting to suspect that it's not a coincidence, that maybe she's being set up, but she has no proof of this). Margaery and Mya aren't on the date, which is disappointing, but she can't be too upset when Falyse isn't, either.

She tries not to get too bogged down in what they're doing. This date card is harder to figure out and girls have all sorts of wild theories that she doesn't give much credence to. On the day of, they aren't given explicit instructions on what to wear, nor are they forced into skimpy shorts, so she takes this as a good sign.

It isn't until the shuttles pull into a gated lot that Arianne, who is in the van with her, says “we're modeling.”

“How do you know?” Roslin tilts her head as she asks the question (and ignores the very obvious conclusion).

“Because I've done photoshoots here,” Arianne explains with the patience of a saint. “They do that on this show, right?”

“Yeah,” Sansa nods. Arianne has admitted to never having seen the show, and Sansa knows Gilly knows the basics, but hasn't really watched, either. That leaves only her who has watched before (Sansa isn't sure about Roslin, whether she has never seen the show or if she had and the information has simply slid out of her brain).

“I'll bet you anything that's what we're doing, then.”

She's right.

They get inside and find a set and a camera and a bald man standing behind it wearing a set of silk pants and a silk shirt and he _should_ look ridiculous, but he pulls it off somehow.

“Varys,” Arianne whispers to their group. “I've never worked with him before, he's way above my level. I can't believe they got him.”

“You'd be surprised the reach the Lannister Group has,” Myranda whispers back and something tugs at the back of Sansa's mind. Is that why Jon's here? The _Lannister reach_?

“Well I think we know who's winning this group date rose,” Gilly jokes and looks at Arianne, who gives them all a giant smile.

“Any tips?” Obella asks.

“Honestly? Just try to relax. The more nervous you are, the more obvious it will be on camera.”

“I feel like knowing that makes me _more_ nervous,” Gilly mutters, which makes the rest of them laugh.

Renly comes out in sunglasses (though they're inside) and he only takes them off when he hands his drink over to his assistant. Off to the side, Sansa can see the sneer on Cersei's face and she wonders if Cersei hates Renly for taking her brother's job or just in general. It could go either way, really. She's seen enough by now to realize that Renly has no fear of her and that must _infuriate_ Cersei, who seems to feed off the despair of the people in her employ.

Renly starts a speech about love and timelessness and a bunch of other nonsense that she doesn't really listen to until he gets to the point. They're going to be doing a photoshoot of _love through the ages_. AKA, they will be wearing period clothes and taking pictures.

“I'm so excited!” she whispers to Gilly and Myranda as they're shuffled back to the changing rooms. There's no one to help them dress, the only help appears to be for hair and makeup, so Sansa finds the rack with her name and at first she's even _more_ excited when she sees the long dress until she pulls it out and really gets a good look at it.

Her card reads “Northern Independence” and the dress is _sort of_ correct, but her eye immediately notices all the things wrong with it. It's the wrong neckline ( _way_ too low cut, though she assumes that's just for the show), there's a zipper up the back (obviously anachronistic), and the colors are too southern (the Independence embraced traditional Northern coloring and for a long time grey and white and black and _maybe_ dark blue were the more popular choices, especially for the nobility). At least the crown that sits with her costume is on point, though when she picks it up, it's plastic instead of iron. Well, at least her neck won't get tired.

She can't zipper her dress herself and so she steps out of her little curtained changing room and finds Gilly spinning in front of a mirror in a flapper dress and Myranda admiring her own cleavage in a seventies bodysuit.

“Help,” she says and turns her back to them, and Gilly comes over and zips her up.

Sam is standing nearby and smiling as Gilly turns to him and says “Sam, do you think they'd care if I stole this dress?”

“As your producer, I'd have to advise against it,” he laughs and Sansa watches a flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks as Gilly turns to the mirror and twists her hips back and forth to make the fringe move.

“I love this,” Gilly sighs as the beads rattle.

“Well, after the show, I'll make you one,” Sansa tells her as they both head towards the makeup chair.

“You could?”

“Oh, yeah, I kind of... make stuff?”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Like costumes? Sometimes. Mostly I just make regular clothes, but I also make a lot of period clothes and costumes for like, festivals and cosplay and stuff. I sell them online.”

“I thought you worked in an office?” Obella joins them at the makeup station.

“Oh yeah, I do,” she tries to give a light laugh to brush it off. “I just make clothes on the side. Mostly for myself and my friends, but sometimes I do commission work on Etsy.”

“You could really make me one of these?” Gilly's eyes are wide with excitement. “I don't even know where I'd wear it. Picking up my son from daycare, maybe?”

That makes them laugh and the arrival of the makeup artist distracts anyone from asking Sansa any more questions, like perhaps why she is working in a realty office as an assistant and not trying to pursue a fashion-based career.

* * *

“She's beautiful,” Gilly sighs as the girls peek around the curtain to watch Arianne's shoot. She looks natural out there and the dress she's wearing is insane, some toga looking thing that Sansa can't quite place (she's beginning to think the people who put these costumes together didn't care as much about historical accuracy as they did aesthetics. She almost can't blame them when Arianne looks like _that_ ).

She's trying not to look at Jon, in some getup she assumes is supposed to be an ancient Valyrian Emporer, but like... hornier. His arms and half his chest is on display and _dear gods_ he looks good. Have they oiled him up? That's unfair. Are all football players this nice looking? Are all their legs that muscled? Is _that_ why people watch? She thinks she understands football now.

Gilly's the next to go after a recess to dress Jon in a new costume (poor boy, she thinks, he looks positively _miserable_ every time they drag him in and out of the changing room). She watches Gilly's shoot with a smile on her face because Gilly's enthusiasm for her dress is infectious. Sansa can't hear what they're saying, but a few times Jon actually _laughs_ at something Gilly says and Sansa thinks he should do that more often. His smile, his real one, changes his whole face. Jon _grins_ when Gilly twirls to show him how the dress moves.

“You're next,” Sam tells her and when she turns to look at him, he doesn't seem to be his normal cheery self. It's like watching a recently scolded puppy, with his sad eyes and his pout, but she doesn't get a chance to ask him what's wrong before she's pulled out onto the set (the background is a greenscreen and she assumes they'll be photoshopped into some sort of castle scene). While she's waiting for Jon to come out, she puts her crown on and tries not to mess up her hair.

When he does come out and Renly announces that they are supposed to be the King and the Queen in the North, she laughs. She doesn't mean to, really, but she can't help it.

“I don't look _that_ bad, do I?” Jon asks as he comes to take his place next to her, tugging on the faux fur of his cloak.

“No, you look great,” she tries to soothe. “But you aren't a _king_.” When he simply looks at her in confusion, she sighs. “You're in a Night's Watch outfit.”

He looks down at the black costume and shrugs. “Well, I guess you'll be the Queen in the North and I'll be the Lord Commander who visits every once in a while to pine and curse himself for taking a celibacy oath.”

She hates the giddy laugh that comes out of her at this, and she hates that he so easily came up with this change in roles. Why couldn't he have been some asshole who insisted on being a king? Why did he have to _so willingly_ give up his (imaginary) throne to let her be a queen? It isn't helping her infatuation.

“Pine?” she flirts ( _damn it_ ) and he gives her another smile and shrugs.

“What can I say, Lord Commander Snow likes a woman in power.”

Well fuck her if she doesn't almost swoon back onto the throne behind her.

Varys directs them into position, which (to her utter delight and despair) consists of her sitting in his lap on the throne. He sits first and when she tries to follow, the volume of her skirts (also wrong) is hard to maneuver around and he ends up reaching out and gripping her waist in both hands and _hauling_ her onto his lap in a move that should _not_ make her as weak in the knees as it does.

She tries desperately not to focus on how solid he is behind her, on every place where they are connected. She tries not to focus on the way his breath feels against her neck or the smell of him or _any_ of it. Instead, she listens to Varys's directions – where to place their hands (she ignores when Jon's hand settles onto her lower stomach) and which way to turn her head (so that she's looking at his dumb, beautiful grey eyes).

“Guess I shouldn't be surprised you knew the costume was wrong,” Jon murmurs to her, low enough that they won't be overheard by the crew (though she's sure the mics will pick it up). “Gilly told me you made clothes like this?”

“Oh,” she breathes. “Yeah, sometimes. It's just a hobby.”

(If Arya were here, she would smack Sansa upside the head for trying to downplay what she does, but Sansa can't help it. She still remembers the way Harry would roll his eyes when he found her making dresses that weren't sleek and revealing. She still remembers the way people at her internship would sneer at her niche interest because it wasn't _innovative_ and _modern._ )

“My mom tried to teach me to sew once,” Jon says, unaware of her inner meltdown. “Except she had no idea how to sew, it was a disaster.”

That breaks her out of her musings and she snorts out a laugh ( _why_ does she keep _snorting_?) and asks “ _what_?”

“Oh, she found a sewing machine at a yard sale and bought it and decided it was a life lesson I needed to learn. Except she had no idea how to use it herself and she broke the needle almost immediately and that was the end of that.”

“Your mom sounds...”

“Insane?” he supplies. “Impulsive? She gets these ideas and gets really excited about them and doesn't always think it through.” He says it lightly, but there's a shadow of something that crosses his features and she wants to ask _what_ but he changes the topic quickly. “I'm guessing you've made a Night's Watch costume before, since you seemed to recognize it?”

“Oh, no,” she shrugs (Varys makes them change position again so that they're both facing the camera and she finds herself leaning back against him even more and it takes her a moment to get her brain back to their conversation). “I don't make a lot of clothes for men, mostly because I never have a good model. I can use myself or my friends for women's clothes, but men are harder. Robb was always too cool to let me and Theon sometimes does, but he makes the _worst_ jokes so it's really not worth it, and Harry thought it was stupid...” She trails off and feels her face heat. Surely Jon doesn't _actually_ care, and here she is rambling about making clothes.

There's a few moments of silence before Jon asks “exes?” in a monotone voice that she recognizes from the other day when he said he was _so honored to be chosen to be the Bachelor._

“Um, only Harry. Robb is my older brother and Theon is... he's hard to explain.”

She turns her head ever so slightly to look at him and it's a terrible idea because when she does, their faces are _so close_ and that means his lips are _so close_ and her brain sort of short circuits.

“So not an ex, then?”

“No, like an adoptive brother, and completely undateable.” She's a little embarrassed by how breathy her voice sounds and she can't help but look at his lips because they're _right there_. She's only human.

He makes a sort of agreeable noise deep in his throat and the hand on her stomach presses her back further into him and she swears (she _swears_ ) he looks at _her_ lips, too, and just when she thinks she's about to lose her _fucking_ mind, Varys yells “great!” and she's thrown back into the reality that there are multiple cameras on her and about a dozen people standing around and watching (not including the girls who are likely watching their shoot like she had watched all the others).

Varys is moving away from the camera and she can tell they're done and she jumps off Jon's lap with too much haste and no grace to speak of, and she wants to run back to the changing rooms, but Jon is still looking at her and so she stays. Around them, the assistants are moving the throne away as production gets ready for the next shoot.

“Well, I'll see you around, Lord Commander,” she tries to keep her voice light and airy, though she's having a hard time actually looking at him because she _absolutely_ almost kissed him just a few seconds ago.

“Your Grace,” he nods before he's pulled off by a production assistant to his changing room.

When she gets back behind the curtain on the girl's side, Myranda is giving her a once over with a wicked smile, and Sansa feels flustered all over again. She goes to the changing room and ignores the ice cold stare from Dany and she strips out of the dress with shaking hands.

* * *

There's a few hours between the shoot and the night portion of the date and she spends that time agonizing over what to wear and how to do her hair and makeup. She's in high school all over again, putting too much effort into looking nice for whatever boy she was going on a date with and she _wants_ to hate herself for acting this way, but... honestly it's kind of nice.

There are butterflies in her stomach and for the first time in _years_ , they aren't bad ones. Her entire time spent in the Vale had consisted of butterflies brought on by men who made her anxious and self conscious and sometimes even fearful. They weren't Jon butterflies, all giddy excitement to see him again. She hasn't felt this in _so long_.

* * *

To no one's surprise, Dany steals Jon first at the night date and the rest of them are left sitting on the couches around a firepit. It's too hot for a fire, but she assumes it's for the aesthetics.

“Shocker,” Myranda rolls her eyes when Dany is out of earshot. “That girl is on a _mission_.”

“Do you think she wants to be Bachelorette?” Obella asks. Cersei isn't here tonight, _thank the gods_ , so no one in production really stops them from talking about this.

“I think maybe she wanted that initially,” Myranda puts her finger on her chin like she's contemplating very hard about this. “But I think she wants _him_ now, whatever her initial plans were.”

Something ugly twists in Sansa's stomach and she takes a sip of her champagne so that no one can really see her face.

It's not that she doesn't _know_ that all the girls are here to date him, but it honestly slips her mind sometimes. It's so early on and so most of the time when they're in the house, they talk about their own lives, the show itself, and of course theorizing about how Jon got roped into this. None of them have really talked about any sort of _actual_ feelings, but it makes sense, doesn't it? If Sansa has a crush, there's a very good chance the other girls do, too.

At some point, Myranda decides Dany has had enough time and goes to interrupt them (Dany comes back with a scowl) and Sansa does her best to only talk to Gilly. Some time later, Sam comes up and leans down and says, mostly to Sansa, “I swear if one of you doesn't go talk to him, I'll get fired.” Gilly laughs and rolls her eyes and then pushes at Sansa's shoulder.

Sansa goes, though not as unwillingly as she had in the past, and she doesn't feel as bad interrupting Obella as she should.

When she sits down, Jon runs his eyes over her dress and asks “did you make that?”

“Oh, not really,” she shrugs. “I've made a few dresses for myself, but we needed to bring more than I had and I didn't have the time to make them, so I just bought some and tailored them, which is easier than making them from scratch.”

“Still impressive,” he says and drags his eyes back to her face (and she _swears_ if she were a dog, her tail would be wagging right now at the praise). “So I guess you do something with fashion, then?” Jon asks after he clears his throat.

“Oh, um, it's just a hobby, really, I actually work in an office.”

“Huh,” he says and she furrows her brow at his tone. “Well, you seem like you're really interested in it, and you're obviously good at it, I'm just surprised it's not something you're pursuing full time.”

That catches her off guard because he seems like he actually _cares_. And how did he pick up from this brief conversation that yes, she _is_ very interested in it? Like obsessed, really.

“Well, I did study fashion design at university and I had an internship with a fashion house...”

Jon watches her like he's sure that isn't the end of it and she wishes she hadn't brought it up because she doesn't know what to say.

(How does she explain that she had gotten a _dream_ internship at Arryn, one of the oldest houses in Westeros? That she moved to the Vale straight out of KLU and into a tiny apartment with a landlord that she was _sure_ secretly snuck in with a spare key to steal her underwear? How does she explain that when she started dating Harry, she moved in with him almost immediately to get away from that apartment? How does she explain that her boss gave her weird vibes, but she stuck it out for two _years_ because she needed the experience? How does she explain that when Harry started cheating on her, she _let it happen_? How she had nowhere else to go with her pathetic intern salary and staying with Harry seemed like a better option than leaving him and having to call her parents for help? How it all came crashing down the day Mr. Baelish gave her that ultimatum and the idea of sleeping with her boss to get ahead.... well, she found out which lines she wasn't willing to cross.)

“It... wasn't what I expected,” she finishes lamely, unable to meet his eyes, and there's enough of a pause between her explanation and his _ah_ that she knows he doesn't quite believe her. But he doesn't call her out on it and she's grateful, especially with all the cameras around. Gods, she can just imagine the things viewers would say about her if they heard that story (names she's called herself nearly every day since she tearfully packed her suitcases and took a train back to Winterfell with her tail between her legs).

He's about to say something when they hear the distant sound of raised voices and they both pause and look over.

“What was that?” he asks and she shrugs, because how is she supposed to know? When she left, everything was fine.

“Um, do we ignore that?” she laughs awkwardly and Jon looks over at Brienne, who gives him a look that says _up to you_.

There's a few seconds of silence and she thinks everything is fine and she's about to start a new topic (maybe something about how the body oil he was wearing in Arianne's shoot was applied. Did he do it himself or was it an intern? Is that a job? Can she switch careers?) when the shouting starts again and Jon sighs.

“I feel like I'm supposed to take care of that,” he groans, looking for all the world like he wants to do the exact opposite.

“I'll go with you,” she says and takes his hand and he seems to relax a bit.

They both head back to the sitting area to find Myranda standing up from her seat, gesturing wildly and nearly red in the face. Sansa can't see Gilly or Roslin, but Obella is half out of her seat, too, and Arianne's face is a storm. On the other side of the circle sits the object of their ire – some girl from the Riverlands that Sansa has not once spoken to, she thinks her name is Walda? Next to Walda is Dany, sipping at a glass of champagne with what looks like a smug smile on her face. Bethany, another girl she has rarely spoken with from the Stormlands, is clutching a pillow to her front like she wants to be anywhere but here.

“What's going on,” Jon's voice cuts through whatever argument they'd been having and all the girls look at him.

There's silence for a bit and Sansa keeps looking around for Gilly, but she's not in the area. Her eyes sweep the girls and she finds Dany staring at her and Jon's linked hands and an uneasiness settles in her stomach and she lets his hand go.

“Walda said some _shit_ about my girl Gilly and...” Myranda starts, but Arianne stands and places a hand on her shoulder and Myranda stops talking.

“Where is she?” Sansa steps forward and Obella points down another path of the gardens and without another thought, Sansa takes off.

She finds Gilly and Roslin sitting on a bench by a pond, clearly not meant to be used because it isn't lit properly. One of the cameramen has followed them and Sam is standing off to the side shifting anxiously from foot to foot, held back by Loras. When he sees her, he looks relieved and gestures at Gilly as if to say _please help her_.

“Gil, what happened,” she sits on Gilly's other side and makes eye contact with Roslin, who looks distraught. Gilly just shakes her head.

“After you left,” Roslin starts, keeping her voice quiet, “Dany said something about you, it wasn't nice. Gilly tried to defend you and Walda... well, you know she's been hanging onto to Dany from day one. Walda accused Gilly of...”

“She thinks I'm here to get child support out of Jon,” Gilly sniffs, finally raising her head.

“Oh, Gil,” Sansa sighs and hugs her as hard as she can.

“He doesn't even _know_ I have a son! I haven't even told him! Walda says I'm tricking him by not telling him. That I'm trying to trap him. Is that true?”

“Of course it isn't!” Sansa hisses, feeling a sort of primal rage rise up in her chest. “Anyone who's met you _knows_ that isn't true, Walda just wants to cause drama.”

“You made Jon laugh today,” Roslin points out. “At the photoshoot. Dany probably wasn't happy about that and Walda's doing her dirty work.”

It's a rather insightful observation and Sansa thinks perhaps she's been selling Roslin short. Sansa looks at the camera and Sam, who is positively miserable and clearly wants to come comfort Gilly, though he doesn't seem to be allowed to.

“Can we get some water?” she asks Sam and Loras. One of the interns comes forward with a water bottle and hands it to Gilly, who drinks nearly half the bottle in one go.

She's finally calmed down when Jon makes an appearance, clearly uncomfortable, but he straightens up when he sees Gilly's tear stained face.

“We should go,” Roslin says and stands, and Sansa has to remind herself that they're on a TV show and Jon is the Bachelor and it is his job to now comfort Gilly. She can't bring herself to leave, though, until Gilly gives her hand a squeeze and says _I'll be ok_.

When she gets back to the fire, the girls have settled into a very tense silence and Sansa feels a new throb of rage when she sees Walda. Arianne, ever the most level headed of the group, seems to sense this and pulls her to sit and holds her hand and mutters _don't let them bait you_.

“Where's Jon?” Walda says after a few seconds, when she seems to realize that Sansa isn't going to say anything. “I'm surprised you left him alone with another girl, the way you're always throwing yourself at him. So pathetic.”

Sansa feels like she's been punched in the gut and her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“The way _she_ throws herself at him?” Myranda cries with a dramatic flail of her hands. “Dany practically _assaulted_ him night one and _Sansa_ is the pathetic one?”

There's more yelling and arguing, but Sansa's hearing has sort of gone dull. She's bad at fighting, she knows this. Confrontation is not her strong suit, it's why she always backed down anytime she tried to talk to Harry about his cheating. He'd start yelling and accusing her of making things up and her anxiety would flare at his raised voice and she would just... shut down. She's doing it now, she can tell.

“- _gold-digger-_ ” she hears Walda hiss and that breaks her out of it.

“Gilly is _not_ a gold digger, you absolute _bitch_ ,” she snaps before she realizes it. “She has a _son_ , that doesn't make her any different than the rest of us. Like you aren't here to try and get more Instagram followers for your stupid travel blog.”

Arianne snorts and Bethany brings the pillow up in front of her face and shrinks further into the couch and Walda sputters out a defense that Sansa decides not to listen to.

After that, they're silent again and this time it stretches until Jon walks back with Gilly and Sansa watches Dany's face darken when she sees the rose in Gilly's hand.

* * *

Later that night, after they're back at the mansion, she finally hears what they talked about.

“He was really sweet,” Gilly says, falling back onto her bed. Roslin is still removing her makeup and Sansa is brushing out her hair while Missandei is in the shower. “He told me his mom was a single mom and he gets why I didn't say anything at first. I told Jon I felt bad about leaving him and Jon said... he said his mom used to have to go on business trips a lot. She'd leave him with their neighbor and he said-” her voice cracks a bit, but she holds it together “-he never blamed her or hated her for leaving. He knew she had to. Then he asked if I wanted to stay or if I wanted him to send me home.”

“He did?” Roslin asks, sounding surprised. “Is he allowed to ask that?”

Gilly snorts. “I don't think so. Loras kind of tried to stop it, but Jon didn't listen. I told him... I think I need to see this through. I can't explain it, but I _want_ to stay. Is that horrible?”

“No,” Sansa tells her and sits on the bed next to her. “It's not terrible to do something for yourself. You aren't abandoning your son, you said he's with your sister and his cousins? I'm sure he's having a lot of fun even though he misses you, and you'll see him soon enough.”

“I hope he understands,” Gilly whispers to the ceiling.

Sansa stretches herself out next to Gilly and pulls her into a hug. “He will.”

* * *

The rest of the week is a blur.

Shy Myrcella gets the one on one date that week (a spending spree at some high end fashion boutique that all the girls are jealous of, except Myrcella seems to be upset over the bags and bags of designer clothes. She also seems to be upset over the date rose she gets).

The other group date is an obstacle course and all the girls come back exhausted and covered in mud and Sansa isn't sorry she missed it. Asha had won, of course, and she gets a solo night date for it (and comes back with the rose).

At the rose ceremony, Sansa feels less anxious than the past two weeks. Gilly, Myrcella, and Asha already have roses and for some reason, she doesn't feel like she's about to go home this week (though this, she thinks, is a dangerous mindset. She'll probably get cut now that she _isn't_ afraid of going home).

To her relief, she's called fourth, after Val, Margaery, and Arianne. Myranda and Mya are called quickly after. She isn't a fan of Dany and Falyse being called, though she feels vindicated when Walda is cut.

This week, Arianne is prompted to make a toast, and she does it with more grace than Sansa will ever have in her life (she feels like she should hate Arianne, but she just can't).

That night, she once again wishes she could call Jeyne or Beth. As much as she loves Arya, she's not the best when it comes to talking about feelings, and Sansa wants to talk for hours and hours about Jon to someone who isn't also here to date him and doesn't have a camera in their hands. She wants to tell Jeyne or Beth about how pretty his eyes are and how she almost kissed him and how she was _never_ this attracted to Harry.

In the end, though, she can't, and so she just obsesses over every interaction she had with him until she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for spamming you all with updates, but I am having _so much_ fun writing this and it's a nice distraction from 2021, the sequel to 2020 that we never asked for.
> 
> A lot of you have commented that you've never seen the show and I am delighted that you're reading this nonsense despite that. I don't blame you, either. I genuinely hate-watch this show. Half the time I have it on mute or I'm screaming at the TV, but I _live_ for the moments of pure gold. like [champagne-gate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLyb5_zgpJ0&ab_channel=BachelorNationonABC) or [Hannah moving the podium](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AI5ldBGPBd4&ab_channel=BachelorNationonABC) or [Alexis thinking she's a dolphin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUnz5fTYq90&ab_channel=BachelorNationonABC) (did I spend too much time watching old Bachelor clips on youtube? yes I did.)
> 
> Thank you all again for reading and the positive response this has gotten! It genuinely makes me happy to read all your comments and I live to discuss/explain this dumb show.


	4. Week 4

Time is meaningless.

The only thing to break up the monotony of being in the house are the dates, and there's only one of those per person per 'week' (yes, she realizes now that the weeks on the show aren't _actually_ full weeks, it's more condensed than that, but there's still so much down time between dates). They've all begun to snipe at each other over little things, their nerves becoming more and more frayed and it's only when Asha and Mya have a massive fight over who ate the last of the eggs that Missandei takes matters into her own hands.

Apparently during university, she used to teach yoga on the side and so she sets up a class out on the lawn every morning, which helps to ease some of the tension and gives them all a common activity.

Sansa has taken to avoiding Dany almost completely (and honestly, she thinks Dany is doing the same with her and she wonders if Dany has realized that starting a feud isn't going to go well for her if she actually wants to end up with Jon. The girls sent on the two on ones _never_ win). The only time she and Dany are around each other is during yoga, where they've come to a strange cease-fire for Missandei's sake.

It helps, really. It gives her an hour to clear her mind and keeps her active. It's relaxing, if you can ignore the cameramen that watch them do it.

* * *

“Girls, pack your bags, we're going to the Arbor!” Renly enthuses with a flourish.

They're sat on the couches in the main room, gathered together early one morning right as they were all headed to yoga, so of course none of them are really camera ready (she wonders if this is on purpose, considering how furious a few of the girls are to be caught without makeup and how smug Cersei looks).

There's a round of murmurs and Renly sighs and rolls his eyes and, sure enough, from the side she can hear Loras yell “come on, more enthusiasm, girls!”

And so Renly says his line again and they all have to _ooh_ and _aah_ like it's the most exciting thing in the world. It _is_ exciting (but not as exciting as, say, international travel). She's never been to the Arbor, she's actually never been further south than King's Landing (she went to college here and the Bachelor mansion is located on the outskirts near the ocean, but she never managed to venture any further out).

It turns out, the _idea_ of going to the Arbor and actually _doing_ it are two very different things and wrangling sixteen women and their producers and assistants through the airport is a confusing mess and she mostly just sticks to Gilly and Sam.

“Is Jon on the plane?” Wylla asks and they're informed that no, Jon is already there. Sansa wonders if they gave _him_ a first class ticket because she and the girls definitely get stuck in economy.

“I'm going to drown myself in wine,” she hears Margaery say from across the aisle and she honestly can't agree more.

* * *

The Arbor is pretty, but they don't get to see much of it as they're herded to the hotel. At least their view is nice, and there's a bowl of fresh peaches in their room when they arrive, which they all eat with enthusiasm (does Cersei know the hotel provided them with food? Are the peaches contraband?)

The first date card is already waiting for them and it's a solo date for Margaery and Sansa tries not to let it bother her, the fact that she hasn't gotten a solo date yet. She has to remind herself that it's only been a few weeks and even first-date-rose-Val hasn't gotten a one on one. She can't help but wonder, though (and by wonder, she means worry, of course).

* * *

Her safety blanket is ripped away when the group date card comes the next day and lists every remaining girl except Val, which means Val gets the second one on one this week and Sansa feels her heart sink even further.

Margaery had been thrilled with her one on one winery tour and tasting, but the real gut-punch comes when she flops back on the chaise lounge by the pool and sighs “for someone so moody, he's a surprisingly good kisser.”

Sansa makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and keeps herself faced away from Margaery, legs hanging over the edge into the pool. She watches them kick back and forth, focusing on the ripples of the water instead of the idea that Jon and Margaery kissed. He also kissed Dany, even if Myranda insists there had been some dubious consent on that one.

Now that she thinks about it, she can't remember a single Bachelor in history that _hadn't_ kissed their one on one dates. Sure, maybe there was the odd one here or there, but it's a _thing_. A thing she hadn't thought of before (or, more likely, hadn't allowed herself to think of). Is it something the producers require? Or had he wanted to? Margaery is _beautiful_ and fun and not at all awkward around the cameras. Hell, _she'd_ probably kiss Margaery if they had a one on one date.

Margaery doesn't seem to notice her mood and after what Sansa thinks is an appropriate and non-suspicious amount of time, she swings her legs out of the pool and goes inside to get a snack.

The air-con is freezing against her wet legs and she shivers and wishes she'd brought a towel in with her, but she hadn't really been thinking. Myrcella is sitting at the kitchen bar eating a pitiful amount of baby carrots and Sansa reconsiders her own snack choice of a literal loaf of bread that she was going to slather butter on and sad eat in her bed. (How many times has Cersei walked past them and made comments about their food choices and watching their weight? She should eat the bread just to spite Cersei.)

“You excited for the date?” Myrcella asks, her voice is low and hesitant, like she's not sure she should be talking at all and Sansa feels for her. Of all the girls, Myrcella is the only one who hasn't really made any friends in the house. Not that she's made enemies, but she tends to stick by herself and doesn't talk much when they're in a group. At least she comes to yoga.

“Not sure _excited_ is the word I'd use.” It's not the friendliest of replies, she realizes, and so she adds a grin like it's a joke (it's not. She's not excited, she doesn't really want to see Jon right now. What if he kisses one of the other girls _on the group date?_ That happens sometimes).

“What do you think it is?”

The date card had mentioned something about _pairings_ and so the consensus was that it was likely wine-based again, considering where they were.

“No idea, but I'm sure Cersei has something up her sleeve to torture us. She's the worst.”

Myrcella makes a little humming noise and Sansa watches a flush creep up her chest. Then, suddenly and without warning, she hops off the stool and makes some excuse and leaves the room with the last remaining baby carrots clutched in her hand and Sansa is left standing, confused, in the kitchen.

Later that night, when she mentions it to Gilly and Myranda and Mya, Myranda leans forward and whispers “ok, so, I don't think Mel was supposed to tell me and, well, she didn't _tell_ me, tell me, just kinda hinted at it, and who knows, maybe she's trying to stir up drama-”

“Get on with it,” Mya says with a push to Myranda's shoulder (they have to do this sometimes; Myranda gets so excited by her own gossip that she loses track of what she's saying).

“She's related to Cersei!” Myranda says in a faux-whisper that's more like a squeal than anything else. “Obviously not _super_ closely because someone would find out, but definitely related. Mel wouldn't say how, but apparently Myrcella's trying to break into modeling...”

“Not surprised,” Mya says with a shrug. “Doesn't Cersei's dad own the Lannister Group? And Jaime was the host? Nepotism runs deep I guess.”

“Maybe Cersei earned the job,” Gilly offers (too kindly). “I mean, this show is _huge_.”

“The show was huge before Cersei took it over,” Myranda corrects. “It's been on for, what, twenty years? And let's be real, the past few seasons have been duds.”

“Oh gods,” Sansa gasps, thinking back to last season, “remember when they found out that one guy was grooming teenage girls online?”

“They wanted to make him Bachelor,” Myranda nods, “before that podcast guy outed him.”

“And I guess the stuff with Jaime didn't happen that long ago, either,” Gilly adds. “I didn't really watch the show that much but I remember all the magazine covers about it. I think I read one at my OB's office.”

“So, two sex scandals within a few years and the last couple Bachelors were _so boring_.”

“I almost fell asleep anytime Willard spoke,” Sansa laughs.

They continue talking about the past Bachelors and Bachelorettes, but Sansa's mind stays on Myrcella. The poor girl is so shy, it seems wildly out of character for her to use the show for fame, but then again, Sansa doesn't really know her. What if _shy and sweet_ is just a cover?

* * *

“Welcome,” Oberyn stands at the front of the room and grins at them all and Sansa's inner ten-year-old fangirl is _screaming_.

Oberyn, OG boy band member turned professional chef, is standing _right there_. Sansa used to have posters of his band on her bedroom wall. That was over fifteen years ago, though age has only improved his looks.

They're at Ryamsport College, in what looks like a science room but with hot plates and pots and pans stacked on the tables. Oberyn tells them that they'll be cooking dinner for Jon, something to pair with a _good Arbor red -_ there's a sneer in Oberyn's voice and he has to say the line three times before Cersei is satisfied and by the end, a few of the girls are laughing into their hands (anyone who has watched _Celebrity Top Chef_ knows that Oberyn is _quite_ biased towards Dornish wine.)

They pair off into seven teams and Sansa ends up with Gilly and they're given ten minutes to skim through and pick a meal to make from Oberyn's new cookbook (which the cameras seem to hone in on with laser focus and Sansa wonders how many times they have to show or mention the book to fulfill Oberyn's appearance contract).

“So, girls,” Oberyn has made his way through the tables with Jon, stopping and chatting with the groups as he goes, “what are we making?”

Gilly reads out the dish they chose, pasta with a tomato based sauce that Sansa had picked only because she remembers that when they had pasta with red sauce for dinner, her mom would always drink red wine. Not that that means anything, it's not like her mom is a wine connoisseur, but it was the best clue she and Gilly had (Gilly's dad had only drunk hard liquor and Gilly had gotten pregnant so young, she never really drank. Sansa likes wine well enough, but to be completely honest, they all kind of taste the same to her and she tends to prefer the sweet ones that everyone seems to think are less classy for some reason).

Oberyn waxes poetic about his own recipe and asks if they've ever made anything like it before.

“I've made mac and cheese,” Gilly says.

“I can boil water,” Sansa looks down at their pot, which is definitely full of water and definitely on it's way to a boil. She's two for two so far. “We also decided to do a vegetarian dish because we're pretty sure we'd give you salmonella with meat and I think they'd prefer if we _didn't_ poison the Bachelor?”

“I appreciate that,” Jon says solemnly, though there's a definite twitch to his lips and she thinks he's trying not to smile. It makes _her_ want to break out into a goofy smile herself, until she looks over and sees Falyse watching them (poor Roslin got stuck as her partner). In front of Falyse and her glare are Dany and Missandei and Sansa is suddenly reminded that Jon kissed Dany and he also kissed Margaery and he probably kissed Arianne and Myrcella, too, and her mood sours.

“Well, day's young, there's still time,” she snaps with more anger than she means to, her tone is _definitely_ not joking and Jon seems to notice this because his face falls and his eyebrows draw together and he's giving her puppy dog eyes and _how dare he_. How _dare_ he look so adorably hurt at her tone. She's not the one out here kissing other people! She's not the one withholding a solo date! She's not the one dating fifteen other girls!

(She's being unreasonably unfair and she _knows_ this, but she can't help it.)

She dutifully ignores him after this until he and Oberyn walk away and she ignores the subtle elbow in her side from Gilly and she ignores when Sam comes over and asks if she's ok. Because no, she's not ok right now and it's part Jon and part travel exhaustion and part because she has to pull herself together to be on camera and she can't just wallow in bed for a week like she wants to (like when Oberyn's band broke up when she was eleven and she sobbed for _days_ ).

She came on a TV show and this is what she signed up for and now she must pay for her mistakes.

Their dish wasn't the worst, she decides, after they've finished and Jon, Oberyn, and Renly had all tasted their food. Oberyn calls it _a little acidic,_ whatever that means, at least he didn't gag and spit it out like he did with Falyse and Roslin's (apparently Falyse had switched up the salt and sugar in theirs).

In the end, Oberyn declares Myrcella and Alys the winners for their chicken-something-or-other. They each win a signed copy of his book and so Sansa isn't overly upset, though she would have loved to be able to call up Beth and brag about getting Oberyn's signature. She wonders if Beth still has a copy of that tape they had made of them and their other friend Jeyne (not Robb's Jeyne) lip syncing and dancing to _You Are the On_ e. Gods, how embarrassing would it be to see that video after all these years?

When this is all over, she decides the first thing she's going to do is call Beth and make sure that if any copies _do_ exist, that they are promptly destroyed.

* * *

She's doing a great job of avoiding Jon, she decides during the night portion of the date.

So far she's managed to not go talk to him, and she's even been getting good at dodging Sam's attempts to make her.

(Yes, fine, ok, she's throwing a temper tantrum, but _whatever_. She's allowed to be upset. Her feelings are valid. And so what if the way she deals with things is to ignore them until they go away or blow up in her face?)

When Alys comes back from her talk with Jon, they're all surprised to see Jon with her and he stands at the edge of the group and says “Sansa, can we talk?”

Well _shit_.

With all the girls looking at her and _every camera_ pointed at her, she really has no choice but to smile at him and nod and follow him away from the group to a secluded area of the Redwyne Vineyard Resort.

She feels stiff and awkward as she sits, it feels like night one all over again – she can _feel_ every camera and every producer watching her and Jon's doing that frown again and she hates that her immediate reaction is to want to do something to make him smile. She's allowed to be angry, damnit.

“Are you ok?” he asks and his eyes are only on her like he doesn't even notice the cameras and the lights and she also hates him for that. How can he be so calm during all of this? Maybe he went through some sort of media training when he became the _savior of Winterfell_. And it's not like he's never had cameras on him before this – the games are televised, there's pre and post interviews, she knows he's done magazine shoots before, too. So even though he seems to be here against his will, he's more comfortable in front of the cameras than she will ever be.

“I'm fine,” she says in her brightest voice with her brightest smile; the one she used to give Harry when she was pretending she didn't know he was cheating.

“Ok,” he says like he absolutely doesn't believe her and the frown is still on his face. “I just feel like I said something to upset you earlier and I don't know what it is.”

“I'm not upset.”

He continues to stare at her and why won't he _stop_? Why won't he just accept her words like Harry used to? An _I'm fine_ and Harry would sigh in relief and go watch TV. Harry never pushed.

“Well,” Jon says slowly, like he's worried he's going to say something else wrong, “if I said anything that _could_ have upset you, I'm sorry.”

She can feel her pulse thrumming wildly and she doesn't know what to do with an apology, so she just lifts her shoulders in a half shrug and makes eye contact with the grapevine over his shoulder.

After a few moments of silence, he lets out a sigh and his whole body seems to sag and he says, almost like he's exhausted, “if you don't want to be here, just let me know and I can send you home.”

“ _What_?” she asks at the same time that Cersei shouts “ _absolutely not_!”

“If you don't want to look bad for leaving on your own or something, I can send you home. I don't mind looking like an ass on TV, if you want me to.”

“What did I say?” Cersei's voice is tight with anger and Jon just shoots her a look that Sansa can only interpret as _fuck off_. There's a tense silence as Jon waits and Cersei seethes and Sansa opens and closes her mouth like a complete _idiot_ with nothing to say.

“What?” she repeats and now her heartbeat is _pounding_ in her ears.

“You were nervous the first week and I thought you were getting better, but today you looked miserable,” Jon explains and then he's reaching over and taking her shaking hands in his steady ones. “Just tell me and I'll send you home if that's what you want.”

“No.” The word rushes out of her so fast she almost doesn't realize she's said it, but she feels it deep in her bones. “I want to stay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, seeming to relax a bit and there's even a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and _oh no_ , she can feel the words on the tip of her tongue.

_No, I want to be near you. I want to see you all the time. I'm jealous and upset and I don't know if you feel the same way at all. And even though it's going to hurt when you eventually send me home, I want to stay_. _I want to have as much time as I can with you before it's all gone_.

She doesn't say it though, she _can't_ say it, and so instead she forces her own smile and says “yeah, I'm just not feeling great today, I'm sorry. But I want to stay, I'm really having a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he repeats and his smile fades a bit.

“Definitely!” There's a part of her that feels like it's floating away from her body, like she's watching herself say all the wrong things with a bright fake smile on her face and too much enthusiasm in her voice. “I mean, I get to travel, hang out with a bunch of new friends. I even got to meet _Oberyn_.”

“Oh,” Jon leans back a bit and she feels his hand slip from hers and there's a sort of terrible clenching in her stomach but she's started now and she can't seem to stop.

  
“So just, you know, send me home whenever _you_ want.”

“Right,” Jon nods and he rubs his hands over his face. “Well, I'm glad you're having fun.”

There it is again, the ache in her chest, the twist in her stomach and she tries to tell herself it's fine when Jon ends their conversation and then gives Myrcella the group date rose and he doesn't really look at her again for the rest of the night.

* * *

“Sans, what is going on with you?” Sam whispers as he pulls her aside during the cocktail hour before the rose ceremony. Dany had taken Jon first, yet again, and Sansa has been doing her normal _hide by the buffet table_ routine.

“Nothing, I'm fine, why does everyone keep asking that?”

“Because you seem upset, and it's not just me, Gilly's worried about you, too.”

“Oh, you and Gilly talk about me behind my back?” she snipes and then hates herself for the hurt on Sam's face. “Sorry,” she sighs. “It's just the stress getting to me.”

Sam studies her for a bit before placing his hand on her arm. “He likes you. I promise.”

“Has he told you that?” she asks and the small bit of hope that rises in her is dashed when Sam shakes his head no.

“But I know Jon, he does.”

“You _know_ Jon?”

“Uh, well,” Sam stammers and looks around, his eyes immediately finding Cersei on the other side of the room. “I mean, it's not anything, we just knew each other when we were kids. Kind of. His dad knew my dad a bit. I'm not really allowed to talk to him here, cause Brienne's his producer, you know? Gods, don't say anything,” Sam ends in a pathetic whine and she laughs for the first time all week.

“I won't say anything,” she agrees. “But when this is all over, you're taking me out for drinks and explaining, because I _need_ to know the details.”

Sam laughs in relief and says _fine_ and Sansa makes a note to invite Gilly to that, as well.

Unless Gilly wins?

She takes another look at Sam and hopes (for reasons she's only starting to understand) that Gilly does _not_ win.

* * *

She and Jon have a stilted talk at the cocktail hour before the rose ceremony, and it somehow feels _more_ awkward than the first night they met. That night, she'd been uncomfortable because of the cameras, but Jon had made it bearable. Now she's uncomfortable because of _Jon_ (well, to be honest, because of herself and her stupid mouth) and she doesn't know how to fix it without telling him the truth, and telling him the truth is out of the question.

_Hi, I know you have fifteen other girlfriends here, but I'm hopelessly into you and could you maybe not talk to any of those girls again even though you're contractually obligated to? And maybe tell me that you secretly love me, that'd be great, though you also are contractually obligated to only say that to the winner. Basically, break every rule for me and validate my own pathetic feelings, please!_

No, she can't tell him the truth.

And so they have an awkward, stilted conversation and she is honestly a bit surprised when he calls her name at the rose ceremony (though lower than she had been in weeks past and she tries not to let that get to her).

Tonight is the first night where he's cut girls that she actually cares about – Roslin, Alys, Wylla, and Obella are all cut and all of her pent up frustration and confusion breaks open and she cries as she hugs Roslin goodbye. Alys and Wylla and Obella are nice, but Roslin is her roommate and she tells herself that _that's_ why she's crying so hard.

The four girls all hug Jon before they leave and Sansa watches Roslin whisper something into Jon's ear and his eyes flick over to Sansa for a brief moment before he turns his attention back to Roslin.

“You're making me cry,” Gilly whispers to her and Sansa turns to see that she, too, has a few tears slipping down her face.

After the others are gone, Val is called on to make a toast this week and she does it while managing to sound both bored and inspiring at the same time, and Jon is whisked away quickly after.

That night, she and Gilly and Missandei spend an hour talking about Roslin and her million hair care products and how she used to snore and all the dumbly sweet things she used to say until they each drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'd like to thank everyone for joining me on this nonsense ride where I obsess over Jonsa and the Bachelor and pretend that the real world doesn't exist for a little bit. I appreciate you all so much, you have no idea. 
> 
> I'm actually really excited to write some things coming up, so I hope I can keep updating fairly frequently. Guess who gets a one on one next week?
> 
> Bachelor fact time! Out of 24 seasons (and not including the currently airing season), only one Bachelor is still with his winner - Sean Lowe & Catherine Giudice. Of the 17 Bachelorettes (counting the double-Bachelorettes from season 16), 6 of them are still with their chosen winners. Seems like pretty bad odds for the Bachelors, but two of them (Jason Mesnick and Arie Luyendyk) ended up with - and are married to - their runner ups. Bachelor in Paradise has probably the best record with a bunch of couples still together (I didn't care enough to look up how many). I think there's one couple from Bachelor Pad still together? I didn't watch that tbh.


	5. Week 5

They're carted off to Dorne, next, and the airport is just as much of a nightmare as it had been the last time and she thanks the gods for her tiny bottle of prescription Xanax so she can sleep through the flight itself. The flight is shorter than it had been to the Arbor, so she's still a bit groggy when they land in Starfall and she honestly doesn't see much of the city – she just falls back asleep in the transport van on the way to the hotel.

Just like in the Arbor, there's already a date card waiting for them and she plops down on one of the couches as Asha gets up to read it, fighting her drooping eyelids. She probably shouldn't have taken a Xanax for such a short flight, but she figures it's still better than the anxiety of flying.

“Sansa.” She hears her name and looks up, blinking, but Asha isn't talking _to_ her, she's reading off the card. “ _Love can be rocky_.”

Next to her, Gilly squeezes her arm and it takes her a moment to realize it's a one on one card and it's for _her_. There's a rush of something that feels like both giddy excitement and terrifying anxiety that wars with her Xanax-dulled brain. The combination makes her feel light headed and she's sure she's sitting there with an idiotic, open-mouthed expression and she tries to school her face into some semblance of a smile.

Once they're released from filming, Sam comes to grab her for an interview and she really, _really_ wishes she hadn't taken the Xanax.

“I told you,” Sam is whispering to her as he leads her down the hall and into another hotel room.

She's eternally grateful that Cersei doesn't seem to be here, it's just Sam and Loras and she doesn't know much about Loras (except that she doesn't really trust him or Mel), but Sam is the one asking the questions and so she lets herself relax a bit.

“Ok, just talk about how you feel about getting the solo this week,” Sam prompts as Shae adjusts the lighting and makes a _tsk_ -ing noise and pulls Sansa's hair out of it's messy bun and rearranges it around her face until she's satisfied.

“I'm surprised,” she tells the camera. “I didn't... I thought after last week...” Her brain is a mess and she can't really think straight and she looks helplessly at Sam.

“You can do this, just say how you feel.”

“Honestly?” she laughs a little, trying not to look directly at the light shining in her eyes. “I'm surprised he even kept me after last week.”

“Are you happy he did?”

She takes a moment and she can feel that stupid, giddy, _I-have-a-crush-on-Jon-Snow_ smile taking over her face and she nods.

“You've got to say it for us,” Loras drawls, sounding incredibly bored.

“I'm happy he kept me around,” she tells Sam ( _not_ the camera, its easier to talk to Sam). “I know it's only been a few weeks and I don't know how he feels about me, but I want to be here. I want this date.”

Sam is grinning at her like he's really in her corner, like he's really rooting for her, and she can feel a wave of relief wash over her. She can get through this.

* * *

They tell her to dress in something athletic, which is worrisome, but she isn't totally surprised when they drive her into the mountains that surround Starfall. The _rocky_ bit of the date card seems fairly obvious and she guesses they're going for some sort of hike, which is... ok, not _ideal_ , but also not the worst. She might not be the most athletic person, but she does pilates and yoga and she can handle a hike (the heat maybe not so much, but Sam has promised that he has tons of water and sunscreen on standby).

Sam won't tell her what they're doing, he keeps his lips shut tight on that one, though there's a smile on his face. She hopes the hike ends with a picnic or something, maybe overlooking the mountains. That would be lovely and romantic and she feels her dumb heart flutter over the idea of it.

They let her out of the van and she has to walk a bit, but then there's Jon and the flutter in her heart becomes a full on pounding. He looks so handsome, even in athletic wear with his hair pulled back in a bun that she never thought she'd like, but she _does_.

She's alone now, Sam and the cameras have slunk back and for a moment it feels like it's just her and Jon and when he turns to look at her, he _smiles_. The real one, she's only seen it a few times, and she give him her own matching smile and then her feet are practically running to him and suddenly she's in his arms and she's hugging him and he picks her up a bit and she wants to wrap her legs around him and hold onto him for dear life, but she doesn't (though, honestly, she could help Jeyne with her Bachelor bingo card – _girl jumps on the Bachelor and does a full body hug, complete with leg wrap_ ). No, she resists that urge, she won't be _that_ girl, no matter how nice he feels against her.

“Hi,” she breathes when he finally lets her down and she can feel her besotted smile still on her face.

“Hi,” he says back and he's also still smiling, even bigger than before, and for a moment they just stand there grinning at each other until someone in production clears their throat.

“Um, right,” he says and steps back a bit, looking sheepish. It doesn't help her smile and she almost lets out a snort laugh (she manages to keep it in, thank the gods) and...

Something over Jon's shoulder catches her eye and she focuses on the cliff behind him and the two ropes hanging down. Her eyes follow the ropes up to the top of the cliff and her stomach _drops_. She can see some people milling around up top and she knows, she _knows_ they're meant to climb it and her vision narrows to the ropes and she can't really hear anything and her hands feel numb.

“Sansa.” Jon is suddenly in her vision, blocking the cliff, and his hands come up to grip her shoulders. “You ok?”

“We're climbing that?” she whispers, trying to search his face for any hint that she's wrong (she isn't).

“You...” he pauses, frowns, gets that little crease between his eyebrows that she wants to smooth out, “you don't actually like rock climbing.” He says the last part like he's just figuring it out and when she nods, his frown deepens and then he's turning and looking towards where the crew has set up. “Are you kidding? I should've _fucking_ known.”

She's still in a panic spiral and she can only half focus on what he's saying as he turns and starts to walk over to the crew – to _Cersei_ – and she can hear him talking, hear the anger in his voice, and she can see him gesturing and Brienne is standing at his side trying to calm him down, but Sansa can't quite hear what anyone is saying because her ears have gone all fuzzy. Sam comes up next to her and looks _distraught_ and so she tries to focus on him.

“...thought you mentioned it to production or something. If I'd have known, I wouldn't have let them – or, I would've _tried_ , they don't take me very seriously around here...”

“Sam,” she interjects and he stops talking. “I didn't tell them I liked rock climbing.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I'm getting that now.”

“I hate heights,” she whispers, eyes back on the ropes.

“You never said anything in your pre-interviews,” Sam frowns. “I would've known.”

She can't help but laugh at that. “I didn't tell them because I thought they'd use it against me. Somehow, they managed to anyway.”

When she looks up, she can still see Jon seething near production, running a hand through his hair and ruining his bun and then she catches Cersei's eye and Cersei looks... _smug_. Like she knew this would happen. Like she knew Sansa didn't like heights. But _how_? The only person she had told...

“Margaery.” Sam looks up at her, confused. “I told Margaery I hated heights after Arianne's helicopter date.”

“And if Margaery told Loras, Loras definitely would have told Cersei,” Sam nods.

She shouldn't be surprised, really. She likes Margaery, but she knows how ambitious the girl is and so she can't be too shocked that Margaery would tell the producers. Or who knows, maybe Margaery casually mentioned it to one of the other girls, who told their producer, who told Cersei. Maybe it wasn't malicious, or maybe it was. It doesn't matter, because they're here now.

“Does Cersei hate me or something?”

“Cersei hates everyone,” Sam sighs. “But honestly, I know Loras and Mel aren't too thrilled that you're a frontrunner. They're used to their girls winning. Mine... mine tend to not get very far.” He shrugs a little, face tinging pink. “They're always competing to have one of their girls win or at least get Bachelorette.”

“But you don't,” she says – it isn't a question. Sam _doesn't_. He doesn't push his girls to do things. Sam tries to protect them.

“I'm not really a good producer,” he mumbles. “I'm only here cause my dad runs Tarly Productions.” ( _Duh_ , she thinks. She knew his last name was Tarly, how did she not put that together?) “My little brother is training to take over some day and I... well, they stuck me as a Junior Producer on one of their shows. I really shouldn't be here and I'm sorry you got stuck with me. If I was better, I could've stopped this...”

“Sam,” she grabs his hands and that makes him stop talking and she looks him straight in the eye as she says “I am so grateful that you're my producer. And you should be _glad_ you aren't like them.”

Sam flushes an even darker shade of red and shrugs and shuffles his feet and she can't help but smile.

“Go get Jon,” she tells him and Sam gives her a strange look before doing as he's told.

Jon walks back over to her, fixing his hair as he goes, looking for all the world like he's so very _done_ with everything and she honestly doesn't blame him. She also doesn't blame him for _this_ , just like she doesn't blame Sam. She looks back over at Cersei, who looks so _fucking_ smug that Sansa wants to scream.

“We don't have to do this,” Jon tells her. “They can't _make_ you-”

“We're doing it.”

“What? Sans, you were _shaking_...”

“I can do this.” She isn't sure where this is coming from, but there's an anger churning in her stomach and she will _not_ let Cersei win. Is it stupid to do something that terrifies her out of pure spite? Probably. Is she going to do it anyway? Apparently. (Is she Arya now?)

He tries to protest some more, but she waves it away and walks over to the ropes and some production assistants come and help them into their climbing gear. A harness is strapped to her and the rope is hooked to her harness and she's given instructions about safety and the anchor at the top of the cliff and how to call for help if she needs it. Then they're left alone (or, as alone as they can be), and Jon turns to her again.

“I'll be right with you the whole time,” he promises and his hands come up and he runs them over the straps of her harness, like he's checking to make sure it's on properly. He's frowning down at her, tugging at the straps over and over and she realizes he's _worried_. Like properly worried about her and he's fussing over her and she feels her dumb _Jon Snow_ smile start again.

“I think the professionals strapped me in just fine,” she teases and he scowls at her, but drops his hands from the harness. Then he takes the helmet out of her hands and places it on her head and tucks some loose strands of her hair behind her ears before he clips the straps under her chin.

He does the same to his own and then leans forward until his helmet touches hers and he says again, “I'll be right there with you.”

She nods because she can't really get her throat to work to produce any type of sound, and she can't tell if it's fear or the fact that she would only have to lean up a little bit to kiss him.

The start is easier than she expected. The cliff face is, indeed, _rocky_ and there are a million hand and footholds for her to easily pull herself up and before she knows it, her feet are level with Jon's head (he's been standing at the bottom, watching her and making sure she has a handle on it). When she moves up further, he starts his own ascent and quickly catches up with her, but then clearly slows down to keep pace with her.

It's... well, she hates it. She hates it _so much,_ but if she doesn't look down, it isn't as bad as she thought it might be. She has to look down _sometimes_ to get her footing and she tries to focus only on her foot and the cliff and not the ground below. She tries to focus on her hands and where she's gripping and not the ever increasing distance from the bottom. She tries to focus on Jon next to her, climbing easily (of course it's easy for him, _showoff_ ).

“Come on, you're doing great, you're doing _so well_ , Sans,” he keeps saying as he climbs next to her and she likes the praise from him just a tad bit more than she probably should (and she tucks _that_ piece of information away to think about when she's alone).

It goes on forever. She's been climbing for years, eons, the only things that exist are the cliff and her aching arms and Jon's soothing voice next to her. At some point, her spite falters and she's left empty and terrified, but she's come this far and she'll be damned if she gives up now.

There are points where they stop and catch their breath (well, _she_ catches her breath, Jon's just _perfect_ , isn't he?), but she can't stop for too long because if she does, if she gives herself time to think, she'll lose it.

Just when she thinks she can't take any more of this, Jon shoots up away from her and when she looks up, she sees the edge of the cliff and Jon is pulling himself over and then he turns and reaches down for her as she nears the top. She takes his hand and he helps pull her up and over and she scrambles onto solid ground on shaking legs.

“There we are,” Jon pulls her away from the edge a bit, so they're really on solid ground, and she lets out a sharp burst of laughter.

She's a swirl of adrenaline and giddy excitement because she did it, she fucking _did it_. Fuck Cersei, fuck Loras, fuck whoever else did this to her because they thought she'd crack. And honestly, while she's at it, fuck Harry and Baelish and everyone at Arryn, fuck their snide voices in her head that are always telling her what she's doing wrong and-

She looks up at Jon and he's grinning at her from under his helmet; she can see the hair that's escaped his bun plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat and he's less winded than her, but his chest is still rising and falling rapidly and his eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed and before she realizes it, she's thrown her arms around him and she's _kissing_ him and _oh_ , it's everything she hoped it would be. He doesn't hesitate for a moment, he wraps one arm around her waist and his other hand is on the back of her neck and it's _dizzying_.

Their helmets keep cracking together and they keep having to break apart for air because they'd _just_ hauled themselves up a cliff and she finds herself laughing when their helmets clack together for a third time. He pulls away and he's still grinning and his hands come up and try to release the clasp of her helmet strap (except his fingers fumble a bit and it's _adorable)_ and she keeps laughing and does the same for him and soon enough, both of their helmets are off and fallen to the ground.

He doesn't immediately kiss her again, he takes her face in his hands and holds it there for a moment (and there's a part of her brain that tells her she should feel self conscious because she's sweating and gross but she doesn't _care_ ).

“I did it,” she whispers to him, the force of her smile is making her cheeks hurt.

“Course you did,” he says back and then he kisses her again and this time it isn't a rush, there's no fumbling; he kisses her slow and deep and she thinks that even if her muscles weren't already trembling and loose from the climb, she'd melt into him anyway. And she does, she loops her arms around his neck and lets herself lean into him, lets every thought or worry in her head fly away until it's just his lips against hers and his hands still cradling her head and his body warm and solid against hers.

When he finally pulls back, she whines in protest and he lets out a small laugh and says “cameras.”

That snaps her back to reality – she's on a _television show_ and there are cameras on them and when she looks around, she can see crew members (clearly men from the rock climbing company there to supervise) who look highly uncomfortable to be standing around and watching her and Jon go at it.

“Do you think if we run fast enough, we could lose them?” she whispers like she isn't mic'd up, like the producers can't hear everything she's saying.

Jon laughs and kisses her one last time before truly moving away. It's only then that the crew comes forward and unharnesses them and then they're lead to a different part of the clifftop and there _is_ a small picnic set up and her romantic little heart swoons.

She's devastated to learn, though, that there's no real food and instead they're handed glasses of champagne and told to sit and cuddle up for some shots of them against the backdrop. They don't even have time to talk before she can hear the crackling of a walkie talkie and Cersei's voice telling the producer up here, Mel, to get the shots and then go.

Jon is pulled away from her too soon, she doesn't even get to really say anything to him and Mel just rolls her eyes and says “save it for dinner.”

She's lead to an SUV that takes them down the mountain and they pick up Sam at the bottom and when he gets in, his face is bright and the first thing he says is “you were brilliant! Cersei was _furious_.”

That makes her laugh and Sam regales her with a step by step rendition of Cersei's annoyance - that Sansa hadn't broken down into tears, that she hadn't slipped off the cliff face and dangled precariously in the air, that she hadn't simply run away at the start.

The SUV drops her off at the hotel, but she isn't allowed back into her room, she has to shower and change in a suite away from the other girls and its all a rush and a blur. She's wearing one of her favorite dresses tonight, a red one that she made specifically after Harry told her that red would clash with her hair (her theme for today appears to be spite and she rolls with it).

She's barely done getting ready when they shove her back in the SUV and she's driven back out into the mountainous surroundings to a table set up in the middle of nowhere. It looks strange and out of place, but she guesses on camera it will look romantic. By now the sun has dipped below the horizon and they've got torches set up and candles on the table and plates of food that she knows she won't actually get to eat (Sam had fed her in the SUV on the way to and from the hotel, protein packed energy bars and lots of water).

Jon's already there in a suit, sans tie, and she wonders if he's hot in the jacket. Even though the sun has gone down, they're still in Dorne and it's still much warmer than she would prefer. She had reacclimated surprisingly quickly to the colder weather after being in the south for nearly six years and she almost misses it as the heat of the day clings on here.

The first thing he says is “wow” when he sees her and she thanks Last Year Sansa for sitting down at her sewing machine and tearfully starting this dress after Harry told her she couldn't pull it off. (Maybe she should try spite more often?)

“Wow, yourself,” she says back and it's so _lame_ , but he doesn't seem to mind. She hopes he continues that way because she knows she veers on the side of cheesy and romantic and _some_ people think it's stupid.

But he doesn't tell her she's stupid or roll his eyes or sigh, he just smiles at her and leads her to the table and she notices that the cameras and the crew all seem to disappear into the surrounding landscape – behind bushes and rocks. It almost makes it feel like they really are alone – out in the mountainous desert with a random table set up in the middle of nowhere with food that she has to once again remind herself that she's not allowed to eat. You know, a _normal_ date.

“Well,” she says after a few moments of silence. “This is weird.”

He huffs out a laugh and says “ _this_ is the weird part? The rest of it's been totally normal, then, yeah?”

She's about to respond when Cercei's disembodied voice echoes from out of nowhere “ _seven hells_ , if you two don't talk about your stupid feelings, I will make your lives miserable.”

“Is that not what you're doing already?” Jon asks a nearby rock that she thinks Cersei is behind.

“If I don't get some drama out of you two...” there's a warning edge to the echo now. “And maybe some tears? Give me _something_.”

Jon sighs and turns to back to Sansa and says “alright, ask me something. And feel free to make it as traumatic as possible, you know, for Cersei.”

She lets out an unladylike snort (she's barely even embarrassed about it at this point, Jon's heard it so many times by now). She takes her time, though, to think of a question. It's not that she cares that Cersei gets her footage, but she gets to talk to Jon one on one, without threat of interruption, for the first time and she wants to make it count. Drama be damned, she just wants to _know_ things about him.

“Why the Direwolves?”

Jon looks taken aback for a minute before he says “what do you mean?” She can tell he expected her to ask _why are you here_ , and that's what she really _wants_ to ask, but she feels quite certain Cersei would shut that down immediately.

“Oh please, I've heard enough about you over the years to know you could've gone anywhere after university, why Winterfell? Why the Direwolves? It's not your hometown and we were terrible then – I know that because my family would _never shut up_ about it.”

He smiles a bit at that before it fades and he brings a hand up to rub at his beard, like he's really thinking it through before he answers.

“Well, for one, my real home team was even worse than the Direwolves. Still is. The Rangers made me an offer, too, but...” he hesitates and his eyes flick over towards one of the bushes where she knows a camera is hiding. For the first time, he seems genuinely put off by the cameras and she wonders if it's because he's talking about himself for real and not just playing The Bachelor. She wonders if this is how he always handles press and interviews and cameras, if he plays a version of himself, Football Star Jon Snow, to get through it. He clears his throat and pulls his eyes away from the cameras, but he doesn't really look at her, either. His hands start picking at his napkin and he stares at that while he speaks. “My mom wasn't home a lot when I was a kid. She was a single mom and she worked two jobs and I stayed a lot with our neighbor, Mr. Mormont. He was a huge Direwolves fan and when I started playing Little League, he would always come to my games and take me to practice when my mom couldn't.”

There's a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he talks about Mr. Mormont, though it seems a bit sad.

“When I got a scholarship to White Harbor, he told me that he knew I could go pro and he made me promise I'd go to the Direwolves. He wasn't serious,” Jon gives a slight, rueful laugh. “It was a joke, really, making me promise. By that time, the Direwolves were in their fifth season of being at the bottom of their league, but he was stubborn and he used to rant about fans jumping onto other team's bandwagons just because the Direwolves weren't winning.”

He's silent for a while, the smile is gone from his face and before she realizes she's doing it, she's reaching over and taking his hand and that's when he finally looks at her. She tries to give him what she hopes is an encouraging smile and she watches him take a breath and steel himself.

“He got sick in my first year at uni. It was... it went quick. I didn't even have time to get back to Castle Black when my mom called to tell me - by the time I was able to get home, he was gone. And when I graduated and I got offers, I took the Direwolves because I promised him I would, even if he wasn't serious. And I'm glad I did. They might not have been able to pay me like the Spears or the Lions, but I'm glad I stayed in the North, I'm glad I'm with a team that feels like a _team_ , if that makes sense? Like we're all working towards bringing the Direwolves back to what they used to be and...” He stops, like he's realized that he's been talking for a long time and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “So, yeah. That's why.”

“Well,” she says around the lump in her throat, over the pounding of her heart, “I can tell you there's at least four people who are _thrilled_ you joined.” When he raises his eyebrows at her, she smiles, “my dad and my siblings. Well, three of them, Bran doesn't really care. The rest are huge fans. Robb's the one who signed me up for this, actually, when he heard it was going to be you.” Jon looks taken aback by that and she feels a stab of horror because that must sound _so_ creepy. “Is that weird?” she tries to laugh. “That's weird. Can you pretend like I didn't say that?”

He laughs a bit and he doesn't _actually_ look upset by it. “To be honest, I was wondering why you came on the show. You seem... it doesn't seem like your type of thing.”

“Robb signed me up because he's obnoxious,” she says, unsure how to describe how she got here when she's not quite sure herself. “But it was my sister who convinced me to come on.” She doesn't know what she wants to say, how much she wants to tell him, but after everything he just told her, it feels stupid to be scared about opening up to him. “My internship in the Vale, it... I told you it wasn't what I expected. I love making clothes and I love fashion, but everything there was a competition and people were so _mean_ -” she laughs at herself because she sounds like a _child_. Of course people in the fashion industry were mean, it's a trope at this point. And yet, she'd gone there not expecting it at all. “So that wasn't what I wanted, and then I was dating this guy who... well, he cheated on me, pretty constantly, it turned out.”

She realizes then that she's still holding Jon's hand when his tightens in hers and he's watching her with that little crease between his eyebrows again.

“I let it go, a lot. I pretended it wasn't happening.” The admission comes out as a whisper and she can't look at him when she says it (and she hasn't even told him about Mr. Baelish – she won't on camera). “I do that a lot. Just let stuff happen to me.” For a moment her words stick in her throat and she has to pick up her wine glass with her free hand and it trembles a bit as she takes a sip.

“I finally left and went back home. Moved back into my childhood bedroom. Got a job from a family friend. It was all supposed to be temporary, but six months in and... I was supposed to find an apartment, work harder on my designs, try to build my _brand_. Instead I just got stuck. So when Robb signed me up, I think Arya pushed me to do it because at least I'd be doing _something_ , you know? Like everything I'd wanted was suddenly just _gone_ and I couldn't pick myself back up. Gods, that sounds so pathetic.”

“It's not,” he says and gives her hand a sharp squeeze and when she looks up at him, he looks deadly serious. “I know what that-” there's a moment where he seems to realize what he's saying and his mouth snaps shut and he leans back a bit. “I can understand that,” is what he says instead and she wants to ask what he was _going_ to say, but he seems tense and so she doesn't.

There's silence now and the producers seem to think this is a good time for a break and she realizes she and Jon have been sitting and talking for longer than she thought. They take a bathroom break and Sam shoves another protein bar at her and across the way, she can see Brienne doing the same with Jon.

“When you go back, talk about what you did today, with the cliff,” Sam suggests, but he doesn't tell her why.

They sit back at the table like they never left and before she ducks back behind a rock, Cersei reminds them to hold hands again because they were before the break.

“Um,” she starts, unsure what Sam wants her to actually say. He wants her to talk about the climb? Maybe about why she did it? She puts it together, then. “I think that's why I did it today,” she tells Jon, who seems like he hasn't been prompted to talk about it. “Even though I was terrified. Because that's the whole point of this, right? To stop being so scared of doing... _anything_. It felt good. Even though I was so scared the whole time, I still _did it_.”

He gives her a smile then and brings their joined hands up and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Then he reaches out and takes the rose off the table – she hadn't even noticed it was there, they must have put it there on break. This is what he was likely prompted to do by Brienne.

“Sansa,” he says and she can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His face is settled into a serious expression, but she can see that he finds the formality ridiculous, but he's doing it anyway. “Will you accept this rose?”

“Absolutely,” she says back and plucks it out of his hand before he can give it to her and she grins at him. “And for the record,” she adds, shoving her nerves down deep, “when you asked me if I wanted to stay last week, what I should have said was that I want to stay because of you.”

She takes the risk and jumps right off the deep end – because what if Sam was right, what if she really _is_ a frontrunner? Hadn't Jon called her near the top nearly every single time? Hadn't he always seemed glad to see her? To talk to her?

If she's not, if she's wrong, it'll hurt, but she feels so unlike herself today – she is full of reckless bravery and spite and so she just says it.

He watches her intently for only a brief second before leaning forward and kissing her again and it's like neither of their previous ones – it's not rushed and fumbling, it's not slow and sweet. This one is harder, his hand at the back of her neck more insistent, and the romantic part of her brain wants to believe that he's trying to tell her what he's not allowed to say with words.

Because he can't, really. He's not allowed to tell her how he's really feeling – if she really is a frontrunner, if she's _the one_. He can't even tell her if she's _not_ the one without immediately sending her home.

So all she has is this kiss and she will hold onto it like a lifeline.

* * *

When she gets back to the hotel and all the girls swarm her and ask what happened and half of them look jealous and like they hate her – she holds on to that kiss.

When she learns of the group date card that didn't include Missandei, which means Missandei gets the second one on one that week – she holds on to that kiss.

When Missandei leaves a few days later with a bag packed with a swimsuit – she holds on to that kiss.

When Arianne gets the group date rose and Missandei the one on one rose – she holds on to that kiss.

She holds on because it's all she can do.

* * *

This is the first rose ceremony where she doesn't have to worry, because she already has one. It's nice, but without her panic, she has the luxury of watching all the other girls in _their_ panic and she feels horrible for them.

Sam is giddy, has been all week. The only time his excitement falters is when Gilly goes off to talk to Jon and Sansa wishes she could do something – this seems like a strange and impossible situation. She doesn't _think_ Gilly is into Jon, but they also haven't really talked about it. But Sam is _absolutely_ head over heals for Gilly and she's not sure how that ends well (can any of this end well?)

She wonders if Sam is upset or relieved when Jon calls Gilly's name just after Val, Margaery, and Dany. That week, he sends home Asha and Mya and she hates that it hurts. She should be happy they're going, two less girls to compete with, but any joy she feels is soured by the fact that she _likes_ them. She shouldn't, she should hate them. But really the only girls in the house she doesn't like are Falyse and Dany, and even those are a mild contempt at best right now, since both of them seem to be leaving her alone.

So now it's down to ten of them and that night she falls asleep and dreams of Lord Commander Snow arriving at Winterfell to visit the Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this (once I decided to make it more than just the drabble on tumblr), I had two chapters pretty much mapped out in my head and this was one of them (I won't say what the other is...). This one was super easy to write because I was *so* excited to write it. Is it about 1k words longer than I meant it to be? Yes. I'm not even sorry about it. (I actually ended up cutting out an entire plotline because their date went so long and I was like, eh, I'll shove this in somewhere else.)
> 
> As always, I'm beyond thrilled that you're all enjoying this (even if the premise of the Bachelor horrifies you). I am LIVING for your secondhand embarrassment and your theories. You all brighten my day. And since a bunch of people seemed interested in the stats from last chapter:
> 
> Bach facts! The US Bachelor premiered in March 2002 and since then, there have been 29 international versions. There have been 12 versions of the Bachelorette and 2 of Bachelor in Paradise (which is a shame because it's the best). During the 2018 Winter Olympics, the Bachelor held Winter Games, which brought together contestants from the American version as well as Australia, Canada, China, Finland, Germany, Japan, New Zealand, Sweden Switzerland, and the UK (it was amazing and does not get the credit it deserves. The international cast was *chefs kiss*). There was supposed to be a Bachelor Summer Games to air alongside the 2020 Summer Olympics, but I think we can all figure out why that didn't happen. Yuki, from Bachelor Japan, came on the American Bachelor in Paradise as a bartender for a short while (when we sadly lost Jorge to Jorge's Tourges, RIP).


	6. Week 6

The flight to Lys is much longer than the one to Dorne had been, and so she's able to get a full Xanax sleep on the way.

Lys is _gorgeous_ (not that Dorne and the Arbor hadn't been, but there's something about being in a foreign country that just makes it more magical somehow). She feels absolutely dizzy with joy as they're driven through the ancient city – the crumbling stone temples and cobbled streets and the salt smell of the ocean that permeates even inside the transport van.

Her mood has been swinging wildly this past week and she keeps trying to get herself under control. She'll be on a high – thinking of Jon, the way he kissed her, the earnestness with which he talked – and then she'll remember that she's on a show where he's still dating nine other girls and two of them straight up don't like her and one of them might have snitched to production that she hates heights and there's a solid possibility that Cersei wouldn't mind if she died on one of the dates, because imagine the _ratings_.

She'll be having a great time with Gilly and Myranda and then Myranda will say something about Jon and it's clear that she has also fallen for him and it all comes crashing down around her. Even her friendship with Gilly has soured because she can't bring herself to ask – does Gilly like Jon? Gilly doesn't talk about Jon like the other girls do, so Sansa can't _tell_ , but Gilly is also more reserved. And if she _does_ , poor Sam... Sansa can't imagine what it would be like to watch the girl you like fall for your friend (well, maybe she _can_ imagine that, considering her own situation).

After this is all over, she and Sam are going to go out and get very drunk and commiserate together, she decides.

* * *

The date card is, once again, waiting for them in the hotel room and this time Sansa is prompted to read it.

She stands in front of the other girls and opens the card and glances down at the writing and her heart does a mad leap when she realizes her name is not on it. “Falyse, Myranda,” she reads, “time to sink or swim.”

Ok, Sansa knows she's been in her head a lot but... a two on one? Between Falyse and Myranda? What in the _world_ has she missed? When did _this_ feud start?

“You didn't know?” Gilly giggles later as they're digging through their suitcases for their bathing suits to go sit by the pool. “Myranda and Falyse have been sniping at each other nonstop!”

“I guess,” Sansa shrugs. “I must not have been paying attention.”

“No, you've been too busy having sex dreams about a certain Bachelor...”

Sansa can feel her face heat and she turns to smack Gilly across the arm with her suit top. “I told you that in confidence!” Gilly does _not_ seem sorry and keeps laughing and then Sansa's laughing and then... and then her mood dips again and she _hates_ this. “Gil,” she toys with the straps of her bikini, unknotting and knotting them again in her hands. “Are you... Jon... do you...” she can't get the words out and she hates that she's even bringing it up because she doesn't want to be one of _those_ girls who lets a guy come between her and a friend, but the not knowing is _killing_ her and-

“Are you asking if I'm hopelessly in love with Jon Snow?” Gilly asks with a completely straight face and Sansa nods. Gilly sighs. “I should be, right? He's nice, handsome, rich. Famous, although I'm not sure how attractive I find that. Like, I should be all over him, but I'm just... not? I don't know why, I can't explain it. Maybe because I know you are? But even before we were really friends, I still wasn't _feeling_ it, you know?'

The tightness in her stomach unravels and she feels lightheaded with relief. She wants to _cry_ with relief and then she wants to cry because she shouldn't be this pathetic over a guy she met a few weeks ago and has _barely_ talked to and shared a few (really great) kisses with.

“Stop grinning,” Gilly snorts and gives her a shove towards the bathroom to change.

As she changes, she thinks about what Gilly said, about just _feeling_ it. She _felt_ it from night one, a pull towards him. Attraction, at it's most basic (she finds it _wild_ that not everyone feels that with him? Have they not _seen_ him?)

When they've both changed, they head down and find most of the girls already at the pool.

Well, she's already brought up one subject that's been causing her anxiety, might as well go all in and sort her Margaery problem out, too, right?

“Hey,” she sits on the lounge next to Margaery. “So, you know how my date was rock climbing, right?” Margaery nods, but doesn't stop sunbathing, eyes closed and completely relaxed. “Well, I think Cersei knew I was afraid of heights, and I was wondering, did you mention that to anyone?”

Margaery finally opens her eyes and tilts her head over. “Was it a secret?”

“No, not really,” she shrugs and she realizes that she never _told_ Margaery she was keeping it from production. “Just wondering how they found out, is all.”

“I think I mentioned it after we flew to the Arbor?” Margaery hums. “Cause you were so jittery about flying and Asha asked me what was up.”

“Was the date terrible?” Myrcella asks softly from the side and Sansa's surprised that she's talking. Normally Myrcella is totally silent when more than one person is around.

“It ended up being fine, though I did freak out a bit at the beginning.” She tries to laugh it off like it's nothing, but she's not sure she succeeds.

“Oh please,” Falyse cuts in. “I bet you played it up for the drama. Did you swoon so Jon could catch you?”

“No, that's your move,” Myranda snaps and then suddenly they're arguing and... yeah, she can see why they're getting the two on one. She _really_ must have been out of it these past few weeks to not have noticed _this_ (or she had just tuned it out, she really hates when people argue around her, it makes her feel anxious and claustrophobic).

“I can't wait for this date, I hope both of them go,” Margaery mutters under her breath and that's when Sansa decides she'd rather be in the water than out here where everyone is arguing.

* * *

The next day, Myranda and Falyse leave early and their packed suitcases are lined up ominously near the door. Before any one on one date, the girl is required to pack her bag in case the Bachelor sends her home, but it's usually an unnecessary measure. Now though, he _has_ to send one of them home and their bags are a grim reminder.

(Ok, maybe not _grim_. She'll be sad if Myranda leaves, she likes Myranda, but she honestly has no doubt Jon will send Falyse home.)

Some of the girls have gone down to the pool already, the others are enjoying what alone time they can find – with it down to ten girls, two on a date and half of the rest at the pool, the other four can snag some time by themselves in the bedrooms or take extra long baths. It's a luxury she never knew she needed. Sansa has decided to give Gilly some time and so she's taking the first 'shift' down at the pool.

She's just coming out of her and Gilly's room when she sees Myrcella standing in the common area, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous baby deer.

“Hey,” Sansa says cautiously, almost like she's afraid she'll spook the girl.

“Was your date really that bad?” Myrcella asks, her voice low and wavering.

“Rock climbing?” she asks, taking another step in and looking around for the cameras, which don't seem to be here. They're probably down by the pool, they tend to gather where there's more than one girl, hoping to catch drama.

Myrcella nods and swallows visibly and to Sansa's absolute horror, Myrcella's eyes fill with tears.

“I mean, I was scared, but it turned out... are you ok?”

This, apparently, is the wrong thing to say because Myrcella _does_ start crying then, short little sobs that wrack her thin shoulders and Sansa doesn't know what else to do except move forward and throw her arms around the girl.

“It was me,” Myrcella says, her voice muffled in Sansa's shoulder. “I told Cersei. I heard Marg say it at the airport.”

Sansa was prepared to be angry with Margaery for this, but Myrcella? Sweet, quiet... and related to Cersei.

“Can I ask why?” she manages to say around her confusion. As much as she hates Cersei, and even knowing they're related, she cannot reconcile Myrcella with some backstabbing, conniving producer plant, here to gather intel and report back to them.

“She kept asking me to tell her things and I know I shouldn't but...” Myrcella makes a halfhearted shrug and pulls away, looking down at the floor. “She's my mom's cousin. I got on the show because of her. But I _swear_ I didn't think you'd be that scared! I didn't know it was that bad, I...”

“It wasn't,” Sansa sighs and moves to pull Myrcella to the couch. She sits the blonde down and watches her sniffle and hiccup through her tears. Sansa wants to be angry, but she can't quite manage it, and if she has to guess, the tears aren't about Sansa's date, not really. “It wasn't that bad, I promise. I did it, it ended up being fun.” (A lie, it wasn't fun, but _after_ was.)

“She scares me,” Myrcella says, “that's why I told her things. I know I shoudn't have but... if I told her stuff, she'd leave me alone and I was hoping maybe she'd let me go early...”

“You don't want to be here?” It's less a question and more of a statement and it makes complete sense with everything Myrcella has done so far, it all clicks into place. Trying to stay out of the spotlight, trying to distance herself from the others, maybe so that she didn't find out any information about them that Cersei could bully out of her later. “Why _are_ you here, then?”

“Mom's been trying to get me into acting and modeling since I was a kid, but nothing ever really took off, you know? I think because...” she trails off, eyes on her hands that are twisted in her lap.

“Because why?” Gilly asks kindly and sits on the couch next to her and Myrcella looks up, surprised. When Sansa looks up, she can see Val and Arianne there, too. They must have heard the commotion and come out of their rooms.

Val and Arianne sit wordlessly on the second couch and after a moment, Myrcella seems to gather her courage.

“Because I don't want to,” she whispers. “I don't _want_ to be an actress. I _hate_ modeling.” Her eyes widen and she looks at Arianne.

“Hey, no offense taken,” Arianne shrugs. “It does suck and it _definitely_ isn't for everyone.”

“So your mom and Cersei plotted to get you on the show?” Val says, putting all the pieces together.

Myrcella nods miserably. “That's why I got the shopping date, that's why they never make me do anything embarrassing.”

“I know this is going to sound obvious,” Gilly's tone has slipped into something Sansa thinks might be her _mom_ voice, “but have you told your parents this?”

“No,” Myrcella still looks miserable and tiny on the couch between Sansa and Gilly. “Mom wants it _so_ _much_ and it's not like I know what _I_ want to do with my life...”

“Myrcella, you are _twenty one_ ,” Sansa laughs and Myrcella looks up at her. “You don't need to know what you want to do at _twenty one_. I restarted my whole life at twenty four!”

“I have a _child_ and I definitely don't have anything figured out,” Gilly giggles.

“I'm twenty nine and sometimes I still don't know what I'm doing,” Val offers.

“Aren't you a director at the Northern History Museum?” Myrcella sniffs, wiping at her running nose, but there's a small smile there now.

“Ok, job-wise, I'm fine, but my personal life?” Val gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “I'm here just the same as everyone else, aren't I?”

“What we're trying to say,” Arianne leans forward and takes Myrcella's hand across Gilly, “is that we are all fucking _messes_ but... that's normal.”

“You have time,” Sansa agrees. “Sometimes people know what they want their whole lives, some people never really figure it out, and both of those are okay.”

Gilly's about to say something else when the door to the suite opens and Dany and Missandei walk in. Dany gives the five of them a look, focuses on Myrcella and her tear-streaked face for a moment, then lightly rolls her eyes and walks back to her bedroom (Sansa feels a dull anger pulse through her for a moment, but wills it away). Missandei hesitates and says “everything ok?”

“Yeah, we're good,” Arianne smiles and smooths Myrcella's hair back behind her ear. “Just talking about how shitty it is to be an adult.”

Missandei gives a short laugh and nods before following after Dany.

* * *

She and Dany do not like each other.

Margaery is here for herself and herself only.

Myrcella has been tattling to production behind their backs and is miserable about it.

Gilly misses her son more and more every day, though she tries her best to hide it.

She doesn't know Val or Arianne or Missandei that well, but she's sure they're having just as hard of a time as the rest of them.

But that night, when an intern opens the door of the suite and rolls Falyse's bag out, they all come together in a moment of celebration, and when Myranda comes back with a rose held triumphantly in her hand, they pop a bottle of champagne.

That night, they get drunk and ignore that they're all competing against each other and Sansa goes to bed tipsy and grinning.

* * *

She's hung over the next morning, but not regretful.

Myrcella sits closer to them that day when the date card comes and Val gets up to read it. She lists off every girl left except Myranda, who already had her date, and Dany, which means Dany gets the one on one this week.

(Its ok. Dany is one of the few girls left who _hasn't_ had a one on one yet, it's just basic math. It means nothing.)

* * *

To Sansa's complete and utter surprise, the group date does _not_ consist of them walking around the city and gawking like tourists. That _always_ happens when the Bachelor goes to another country and it's _always_ awkward. She's sure it's some sort of tourism contract with the city, just like they get deals with hotels to show their name, or any other place they go. But it's always so uncomfortable to watch a bunch of Westerosi people walk around a foreign city and talk about how _different_ it is. She's glad she's not going to have to do it (and she wonders, did Lys not care about the free tourism promo? Or was this something Jon decided? Does he have that power? She still has no idea why he's here or what his contract is like.)

They're taken to the Temple of Trade, which has been converted into a museum, and it's closed off for the morning just for them.

Jon's standing in the atrium and the minute they're inside, Margaery breaks off from the group and takes a running leap at him and Sansa thinks she's lucky that Jon has quick reflexes and manages to catch her. Margaery wraps her arms and legs around him in a full body hug and in a full fit of petty anger, Sansa rolls her eyes and decides she's thankful she's not being _that_ girl (she ignores the fact that she very much wants to be that girl; that she very much wants to be in Jon's arms right now instead of standing here watching it happen to someone else. She tries to remind herself that Margaery wants Bachelorette, not Jon, and that this is all for show. Right?)

A Lyseni tour guide takes them around and gives them a history lesson and here it is, the free Lyseni tourism promo the show will be spouting out to the Westerosi public. This date is less about Jon and the girls and more about the rich history and beauty of Lys. She's not sure she minds, honestly. It means the cameras are focused on getting good shots of the statues and tapestries and less on them. She's able to walk through the Temple with Gilly at her side and admire the sights (and ignore Margaery walking with Jon with her arm through his, with Arianne on his other side).

They move into a room and she almost gasps with delight at the array of period clothes arranged behind glass and when she looks around, she catches Jon's eye and he grins at her and she can't help but grin back. He looks down at where his arm is still being clutched by Margaery and his smile falters a bit.

Her mood is dropping, quickly, and so she turns to look at the clothes instead of him. If he wants to spend the whole day with Margaery, that's fine with her. She spends the next few minutes pointing out details on a dress to Gilly.

“You're really into this, huh?” she hears Val's deep, calm voice from next to her.

“Oh, yeah. It's sort of a hobby of mine.” She remembers then that Val works at a history museum and she feels her words falter. “I know it's not as exciting as...”

Val makes a noise and waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You sound like all the men I work with. Bullshit. Do you know how important fashion is to history? Especially to women's history?”

“Right?” Sansa breathes and turns back to the dress in front of her. “I don't know too much about Lyseni fashion, but look at the beadwork! It must have cost a fortune. I bet she dominated any room she walked into.”

“I've always found it ridiculous when people ignore stuff like this in museums,” Val says and also turns to study the dress. “When we're back home, you should come to the NHM, we have an entire backstock of clothing that we don't have the room to display. I'll take you on a tour.”

Sansa whips around, heart in her throat. “You would?”

Val shrugs, then her eyes dart over to Jon, now being pulled across the room by Arianne, and sighs. “Look, I like Jon. I'd date him. But I'm not going to hate you just because we're both on this fucked up show together. Not all of us are Dany or Falyse.”

“I don't hate you, either,” Sansa says and realizes it's true. She might be jealous and petty and insecure, but she does actually like Val. In fact, she likes almost everyone here except Dany, really. Even pseudo-snitch Myrcella. Especially now that Falyse is gone.

Val nods at her. “Good, then we'll make a day of it. I'll warn the guy who handles that department, you can pick his brain if you want.”

“Do you think he'd mind if I bring a list of questions? Or a binder?”

Val laughs, then, and she does, too, and for a moment she forgets they're supposed to be competing against each other. Val moves off to talk to Myrcella, who has been isolating herself again, and Sansa is left with Gilly to keep drooling over the beadwork on the dress.

“Figured you'd like it in here,” Jon's voice startles her out of her reverie and she turns to find him smiling at her.

“Can't imagine why,” she says back as he comes to stand next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Gilly slipping away and she knew Gilly was her friend for a reason.

He asks her questions - about dresses, about the cloth they used, about the time period it was from. They're all innocuous and he clearly knows nothing about it, but she doesn't mind explaining it to him, especially when his hand brushes against hers. She's in the middle of a discussion on fabrics imported to Westeros in ancient times when his fingers grasp hers and her breath nearly catches in her throat.

She doesn't know what it means, he's not even looking at her, just lightly holding her hand and she loses track of what she's saying (and how – _why –_ is holding hands throwing her off so much? She hates how easily he unbalances her).

Soon the tour guide is leading them on and Jon lets her hand go, but not before giving it a squeeze and what does that _mean_? Sorry we didn't have more time? It was nice seeing you? I'm secretly in love with you but can't tell you because I'm under contract not to?

(Ok, maybe she's being a little dramatic. Whatever.)

The rest of the tour is much of the same and no room is as interesting as the clothing (though Jon does seem to perk up when they get to the weaponry room, of _course_ he does).

For the night portion of the date, they're taken to a gorgeous restaurant (“I heard this used to be a pleasure house,” Margaery whispers on their way in) that has been reserved solely for them for the evening and Sansa once again marvels at this. Is the exposure really that good, to shut down a large restaurant for a whole night? Or do the Lannisters just have that much power?

Margaery pulls Jon away first and Sansa tries not to be bitter about it. This is the show, she reminds herself. Margaery is trying to get a lot of camera time, that's become more and more apparent as the weeks go on. After about ten minutes, Myrcella looks around at the crew, leans forward, and whispers “is Cersei here?”

Sansa also looks around and can't find the woman at all, which is strange. She likes being present for dates, Sansa thinks she feeds off their emotional turmoil.

“Sam,” Gilly whispers, though it's loud enough for most people to hear, and she gestures for him to come over. “No Cersei?” she asks when Sam is close enough.

“Oh, no, business call,” he shrugs.

“Thank the gods,” Sansa sighs, relaxing slightly. Without Cersei here, it doesn't feel quite as tense.

“So she's not around at all,” Myrcella asks, voice low, eyes darting to Loras, who seems bored and is on his phone.

“No,” Sam hesitates, frowning. “So I guess I should be extra vigilant, right? Definitely shouldn't look the other way in case a contestant decides to do something Cersei wouldn't like.”

There's a moment where Myrcella freezes, still as a statue, but then Sam resolutely turns his back on them and walks over to Loras. He stands on the opposite side, which makes Loras turn away from the girls, and Sam begins to say something, gesturing wildly.

“Excuse me,” Myrcella breathes, face white as a sheet. Then she gets up and heads off in the direction where Jon is and a few moments later, Margaery comes back with a scowl.

“She interrupted me, I barely had any time!”

They all ignore Margaery's pout and continue on with whatever they were talking about, until it becomes very apparent that Myrcella is taking much longer than normal.

“What's going on?” Margaery frowns, clearly still upset that her time got cut short and now Myrcella seems to be hoarding her screentime.

Sansa looks at Sam, who seems to be doing his best to keep Loras's interest – why? She knows Mel is back at the house with one cameraman, keeping an eye on Dany and Myranda because if any two girls were going to start a fight when left alone, it would be those two. That means that Loras and Sam are the producers here, and Brienne, who is over with Jon.

“Ok, I'm going to interrupt them,” Margaery finally decides and gets up and goes off in a huff. She comes back, though, a few minutes later, confused. “They aren't there.”

“Where would they have gone?' Missandei asks, looking around like she'll find them in the garden somewhere.

There's a few minutes of confusion, as Loras's attention is finally back on them and he goes off to try and find Jon and Myrcella and comes back cursing. It isn't until maybe fifteen minutes later when Jon enters the garden from a different gate and comes up to the group.

“Hey,” he says, hands in his pockets and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I just wanted to let you guys know, Myrcella left.”

“Left?” Missandei asks.

“Like left for the night or left the show?” Margaery frowns.

“Left the show, she's gone back to the hotel to pack her bag.”

Sansa tries desperately hard to keep a neutral face when all she wants to do is _laugh_. Next to her, she hears Gilly make a soft sound of joy and she bumps her knee into Sansa's. From the other couch, Arianne and Val are doing their best to suppress smiles. Val is better at it, Arianne lifts her glass of champagne up to her lips and pretends to take a drink.

_Run_ , Sansa thinks, trying to shove her thoughts out into the universe, to Myrcella. _Get out of here, get away from Cersei_.

* * *

That night, Jon gives her the rose.

He comes back to the group after his final talk with Val and sits on the couches with them and picks up the rose and hands it to her. He makes some reason for it, some producer fed line about the growth in their relationship, so she doesn't know the real reason. Their talk had consisted of absolutely nothing but superficial talk about their day at the museum – Loras, it seems, was enraged that Myrcella had left without his knowledge and was keeping an overbearing eye on the rest of them. Every time she or Jon tried to say anything real, he'd shut it down.

But she gets the rose anyway, somehow.

The rose, the kiss, the way he held her hand.

She holds on to those, she builds up her list of Jon moments to cling to, the things she thinks are _real_.

* * *

Dany is much too happy to flaunt her one on one the morning of and Sansa decides a long, hot bath is in order. She can't relax, though, and eventually she realizes she's sitting in lukewarm water with pruning fingers as she obsesses over what's happening on their date.

Is it something romantic? Or is it a physical date like she had? What if Jon _thought_ he liked Sansa after their one on one, but now that he's with Dany, he realizes Sansa's only just tolerable? What if he decides _Dany_ is the one, and here she is, building up a kiss and a rose and the slight brushing of fingers in her head into something _more_.

She finds herself in the common area, staring at Dany's packed suitcase by the door.

“You're gonna drive yourself crazy,” Gilly sighs as she sits on the couch next to her, Rufus clutched in her hands. “Sansa,” she adopts a gruff voice and holds Rufus up, “you're thinking too much.”

“Are you talking to me through a stuffed animal?” Sansa grumbles and pushes Rufus away as Gilly laughs.

“Well, you're pouting like a child, I figured...”

Sansa groans and falls back into the couch cushions because Gilly is right – she's being a baby about this. This is the show, and she's survived this far, she can't let it break her now.

The door opens, then, and she bolts upright to see.... Dany. Dany comes back with a rose in her hand and Sansa's heart sinks.

“How was it?” Missandei asks, coming out of her bedroom at the sound of the suite door.

“Great!” Dany says, but the smile on her face doesn't seem quite right and she doesn't stick around to gloat.

When Sansa looks at Gilly, she gets a shrug in return.

* * *

Sansa already has a rose this week and so she can once again relax. Two girls were supposed to be cut this week, but with Myrcella leaving on her own, that means only one other girl is going. Dany and Myranda have their date roses already, and in the end, it's Missandei who is cut.

In a moment of pure humanity, Dany looks genuinely distraught that Missandei is leaving and even though she's never going to _like_ Dany, Sansa has to admit that maybe she isn't all bad. They all spend a while saying goodbye to Missandei and even Jon gives her a genuine hug on her way out.

There's seven of them now and by next week, there will be four and suddenly it feels like there's no time at all left. The end is closing in and she both desperately wants it to be over and to never end at the same time.

* * *

She's deep into her REM cycle when she's woken abruptly by Margaery shaking her.

“What?” she groans as Margaery pulls her up. In the other bed, Gilly is already sitting up and rubbing at her eyes.

“Dany!” Margaery's eyes are wild with excitement and Sansa's brain comes a bit out of it's sleep fog. “She's going!”

“Going?” Sansa stands as Margaery pulls at her arm and she follows the other girl out into the hall with Gilly trailing behind. A burst of hope shoots through her stomach. “She's leaving?”

“No!” Margaery is too excited and she leads Sansa and Gilly over to a window. Loras is in the hall with them and looking more excited than Sansa's seen him all season, and a little smug, too. “She's going to Jon's room!”

At the window, she points down to the grounds where, sure enough, Dany is being led by Mel towards a different building, presumably where Jon's rooms are.

“I heard her get up,” Margaery explains, clearly living for the drama of it. “She went out and got one of the assistants and then I heard her talking to Loras and – oh my _gods_ , I hope they got it on camera – she said ' _I'm a conqueror'_ and then demanded to see Jon.”

“She can do that?” Gilly asks, though the proof of it is clearly still walking across the hotel lawn.

“You should've _seen_ the outfit she was wearing. Or, I guess it was less an outfit and more lingerie-and-a-robe,” Margaery grins, staring out the window and scanning the opposite building, like she'll be able to see Jon's window and into the room to catch it all happening. “Do you remember when Daario fucked that one girl, what's her name,” Margaery snaps her fingers but doesn't wait for an answer, “like week two? And then all the girls had to pretend to be totally cool with it?”

“He wouldn't,” Gilly says softly, but Sansa realizes it's more for her sake than for Margaery's.

_No,_ she thinks. Jon wouldn't. Not the Jon she knows.

_Thinks_ she knows.

Does she actually know him?

She leaves Margaery at the window and goes back to her room and lays down and shuts her eyes and pretends to be back asleep when Gilly tries to talk to her. Eventually Gilly gives up and after a few minutes, she feels something soft pressed into her side and when she reaches out, she realizes Gilly has given her Rufus and Sansa cuddles him until she falls into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, I'm sorry there wasn't as much Jon in this one, but I had a bunch of lady business I needed to wrap up before we get caught up in the coming weeks... unless my outline is completely off (*side eyes the outline for what this chapter was supposed to be*), then most of what's to come is pretty Jonsa heavy!
> 
> Once again, I appreciate all of you so much. Your comments and encouragement are a joy to read.
> 
> Bach facts! No stats or anything, but I figured I'd give those of you who don't watch the show (a seemingly large and understandable percentage) a breakdown of how a standard season of the Bachelor ends. Everything continues on as normal (one on one and group dates each week) until the final four.
> 
> Final four – hometowns (the Bachelor goes to the hometown of each contestant, does some activity the contestant helped plan, and then meets their family. Usually a shitshow. Sometimes boring, sometimes hilarious. Often misogynistic and includes a lot of "can I ask for your daughter's hand" to the dad as though we're living in regency times and like the girl has no bearing on the matter whatsoever)
> 
> Final three – fantasy suites (the Bachelor goes on a date with each contestant, at the end of which she is offered a key to a swanky hotel suite (or yurt, depending on if the producers fuckin hate you or not) and the contestant can accept or decline. If the contestant accepts, it is the one and only time they get to be alone during the entire filming of the show. They're given a full night without mics or cameras or producers. This is the only Bachelor Approved sex time. Have sex outside of the fantasy suites? Kaitlyn Bristowe learned the hard way that all the guys and the show and the audience will be really terrible to you. It sucked. But we do not tolerate that here, there is no slut shaming allowed in this house.)
> 
> Final two – pre finale/finale (final dates. Lots of angst and worrying. Lots of crying, usually. At the finale, the Bachelor meets first with the contestant who will not win. He lets her say an entire overly emotional speech/declaration of love before turning her down. Yikes. More tears. Then we forget about her and the Bachelor goes to the girl he's actually picking, she gives her own speech, then he proposes.)
> 
> After the Final Rose: the reunion episode, basically.
> 
> Let me know if you have any questions! I am, as always, way too eager to talk about the Bachelor.


	7. Week 7

Sansa wakes up feeling hungover, with Rufus still tucked in her arms. After wallowing in bed for a while and having a good, solid pout, she finally gets up.

Out in the common area, she finds Margaery, who shrugs and says “she never came back last night.” There's almost a disappointment in her voice, like she was expecting different, and Sansa's stomach feels heavy and sour and she tries to quell that with some crackers and water.

Loras comes in a while later and tells them to get camera ready, but she can't quite find it in herself to put on a full face of makeup, so instead she simply tries not to look completely like death. She doesn't _want_ to care about looking good on camera, but she can't help it. The knowledge that in a few months, everyone she knows (and millions of strangers) will be seeing her and judging her is... well, she slaps on some under eye concealer and brushes down the absolute terror that is her hair and hopes that's good enough.

She sits on the couch between Gilly and Margaery, with Arianne and Val and Myranda spread around them. There's some waiting around and Sansa begins to fidget – _why_ is the date card taking so long to get here? Margaery bumps her shoulder into Sansa's and gives her a small smile, which Sansa thinks is about as encouraging as Margaery can be, under the circumstances.

Eventually the door opens and it's not a date card, it's Renly and Jon, and Sansa wishes she had both made more _and_ less of an effort with her appearance (she doesn't _want_ to care about Jon seeing her like this, but she does, damnit).

“Girls,” Renly says in a _very serious_ voice, “Jon has something he'd like to tell all of you.”

Jon's hands are shoved into his pockets and he's looking anywhere but them and that sourness in Sansa's stomach makes a reappearance.

“Hands!” Cersei calls from the side and Jon glares at her, but takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Well,” he begins, bringing one of his newly freed hands up to rub at his beard like he doesn't know what else to do with them. “Um, so, last night, Dany came to talk to me...”

Margaery lets out a low snort and Sansa remembers her saying Dany had gone over in lingerie and probably didn't have a lot of _talking_ in mind.

“Dany came to talk to me,” Jon says again, pointedly ignoring Margaery's interruption, “and she...” he looks at Brienne, who nods at him, “...she expressed some feelings that I couldn't return, and so I had to send her home.”

Sansa feels her head spin for a moment as her heart slams inside her chest and she looks over at Gilly to make sure she had heard that right. Gilly's got a small, contented smile on her face and when Sansa turns to the other side, Margaery is trying to suppress a grin and... and she _must_ have heard that right. Right?

She looks up at Jon, who isn't looking at her, necessarily, though his eyes keep flicking to her before moving away, like he doesn't want to be caught at it.

“Great,” Renly says, though his tone is different and Sansa can tell it's not his Host Voice. “We good to move on?”

“If we have enough reaction shots, then yes, we have an appointment to keep,” Cersei drawls. Renly clears his throat and goes back into Host mode.

“Sansa,” he nods at her and it catches her off guard, “go get ready, today is your one on one.”

“Again?” she blurts out before she can think and she hears a few of the other girls cough suppressed laughter into their hands as Renly rolls his eyes. (She doesn't think Renly likes her very much, though to be fair, she's not sure Renly likes _anyone_.)

“Come on,” Sam gives her a smile and pulls at her arm and she shoots one last look at Jon before being dragged to her room, where Sam tells her to put on a bathing suit under her outfit and she spends much too long debating which one to wear before Sam finally points to a blue set and tells her to choose that one. When she puts it on in the bathroom, she's grateful, because it's one of her most modest and she knows she'll feel more comfortable in front of the cameras without having to worry about anything slipping out (and _honestly_ , Sam is a lifesaver. She's not sure she wants to be black boxed on national television).

Back in the common area, Jon is still waiting and he seems to be making conversation with the other five, but he stops when she comes back in the room. She takes his outstretched hand and then turns to wave at the group (because what else is she supposed to do? Ignore them?). It's a relief that neither Dany nor Falyse is here to glare at her, and even though most of the girls don't look happy (minus Gilly, of course, bless her), at least she isn't worried that any of them are secretly plotting to murder her in her sleep.

The minute they leave the room (and the cameras) she and Jon are pulled apart and Jon is hustled away from her. He shoots one last, exasperated look over his shoulder before he's put into an elevator and taken down.

By the time she and Sam make it downstairs, Jon's SUV has already left the hotel, off to wherever their date will be held. It's infuriating, really, she thinks as she gets into her own shuttle with Sam and the driver. If she could just get a _bit_ of time with him without a camera in their face or Cersei breathing down her neck, maybe she could get some reassurance. Because no matter that he always picks her near the top, no matter those little moments she keeps clinging to, no matter that she's the first girl to get a second one on one, there's still a small part of her that thinks maybe she's imagining it all. Or maybe he just finds her more tolerable than the others and this is all a part of his contract and he's just trying to make it through these last few weeks.

But, she supposes, that's the point of it, right? Keep her guessing, keep her anxious and worried. She's doing exactly what production wants her to do.

She groans and sags back against the seat, forgetting for a moment that Sam is sitting next to her. When she opens her eyes, even the driver is quirking an eyebrow at her through the rearview mirror.

“You'll like this date,” Sam assures her, misreading her angst. “Unless you have some secret fear of spas?”

“A spa?” she perks up at that. “Really?”

“Really,” Sam laughs. “Massages, relaxation, the whole thing. Jon specifically asked for you for this one.”

Her heart takes a mad leap inside her chest, but she squashes that down. “Is he allowed to do that?” she asks instead, and she's proud of how steady her voice is.

“Towards the end, yeah, mostly. I mean, Cersei could still force something if she wanted to, technically, but at this point it's mostly him.”

For a moment she is giddy at the thought that _he_ chose her for this, but then, as usual, her mood dips almost immediately. “But that also means he picked out whoever gets the second solo date this week.”

“Well,” Sam shrugs, “I guess, yeah. He probably chose her because she hasn't had one yet...” he trails off and looks horrified.

“Myranda,” she guesses.

“Don't let Cersei know I told you,” he sighs, rubbing at his forehead.

“You know I won't. And Dom, you're sworn to secrecy, too,” she jokes and the driver gives her a salute in acknowledgment (she's found that most of the crew hates Cersei and she thinks they're all quite willing to overlook slips in Bachelor etiquette when she's not around).

They arrive at the spa and when she's finally allowed near Jon again, he gives her a smile and leans down to whisper in her ear, “I hope this makes up for the rock climbing thing.”

Inside, they're met with two Lyseni women who give a brief overview of the history of the spa and they name drop it so many times, Sansa wonders if their whole session is comped in return for all this promo. They split up again to go into the changing rooms and when she's standing in her bikini with a Lyseni attendant handing her a robe, she feels the first pangs of true anxiety.

She's not _ashamed_ of her body, necessarily. Not more so than any woman is, she supposes, and in the house with the other girls (and even some cameras getting B-roll), she's never once been self conscious hanging around the pool. But there's something different about this – about being the only girl here, the center of attention. Or maybe it's that _Jon_ is here.

She dons the robe and heads out to find Jon already waiting (probably because he didn't have a mini panic attack in the changing room), and in a completely unnecessary move, they both are instructed to take off the robes they just put on (why couldn't they have just come out in their bathing suits to begin with? Why put on the robes at all if they were just going to take them off five seconds later? She will never understand TV production.)

She tries very hard not to ogle Jon because there is a camera pointed straight at her face, but she doesn't think it's fair, honestly. How is she supposed to concentrate when he's _right there_ , all half naked and way too hot for his own good. It's rude. (Though she doesn't think anyone will blame her if she spends this whole date in a Jon Snow induced haze.)

They're made to lie on the two tables in the room and she soon forgets that Jon even exists as the Lyseni masseuse works out her back and shoulder muscles and it turns Sansa into a mindless puddle of goo. At one point, she thinks she hears the woman mutter _so tense_ and Sansa nearly laughs dizzily at that. No _shit_ she's tense. She thinks she's been tense since the moment she called production and agreed to be on the show.

(She thinks she's been tense since the Eyrie.)

When the masseuse digs into a particularly tight muscle in her lower back, Sansa lets out a groan of approval at the feeling and she doesn't even realize it happened until she hears a laugh from Jon.

“Having a good time?” his voice is low and relaxed and tinged with amusement and she doesn't even bother trying to look over because she doesn't want the masseuse to stop what she's doing.

“Shut up,” she mutters to the ground under her table, her words come out slightly slurred like she's drunk but she doesn't care. She hasn't felt this good in _so long_ and maybe it's the massage itself or maybe she's actually just comfortable around Jon, but she's not embarrassed about enjoying this so much. Why should she be? She's allowed to enjoy things.

Jon makes an agreeable noise in return and she doesn't even realize that she falls asleep until the masseuse is shaking her awake. She sits up on the table and smiles sleepily across at Jon, who gives her one in return.

She's pliant and unprotesting when they lead her to a room with side by side mud baths and she gets in happily, letting the cool mud slide over her.

“This is the best,” she sighs, leaning back and closing her eyes, but she opens them after a little because she can _feel_ Jon watching her.

“I'm glad I could make up for the rock climbing fiasco,” he says and now that he's said it a second time, she realizes he _means it_ and she frowns.

“That wasn't your fault. Also, it... wasn't that bad.” He quirks an eyebrow at her and she laughs a bit and amends, “ok, the rock climbing part was awful, but I liked the rest of it.”

That gets her a full smile (his real one that sends a shiver down her spine) and he says, “yeah, I liked the rest of it, too,” and the smile turns into something _else_ and that sends a different kind of shiver through her.

Do _not_ climb out of this mudbath and get into his, she tells herself. She can't see them, but she _knows_ there are cameras on them and she needs to get herself under control.

She realizes that Jon is still smiling at her, though this time he looks a little smug and she realizes that her face is hot and she's probably flushed red from the rush of (definitely not PG) thoughts that had been spinning through her mind.

“You're the worst,” she grumbles and that makes him laugh and she thinks the massage has worked on him, too. He seems more relaxed than she's ever seen him and she decides she likes this version of Jon very much.

They let silence take over, but it isn't awkward and she relaxes back in her bath and thinks that she definitely could get used to sharing comfortable silences with Jon Snow.

After a while, the Lyseni attendants come back to help them out of the baths and they're lead to a shower to rinse the mud off. There are two showers, but Cersei forces them both into one and Sansa can feel the color rising in her face again.

She's well aware of the camera on them as the warm water washes away the mud and she can't seem to look at Jon's face because even though there are people watching, even though they've kissed before, standing here with him feels strangely and intensely intimate.

Jon's hand comes up and he uses his thumb to wipe a stray bit of mud off her chin and her heart slams against her ribs and her breath catches in her throat as he leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. It's such a chaste thing, but it once again feels more intense than actually kissing him had and she swallows hard against a sudden lump in her throat (Harry was never like this with her, no one _ever_ touched her with such soft intent before and it feels strange and raw and _new_ ).

“You ok?” he moves his lips to her temple and whispers it. They had to take their mic packs off for the mud bath and she thinks these two words are the first he's said to her that production can't hear. She nods, though she's not sure she is. “Tell me if it's too much,” he brings his mouth close to her ear and and she feels another shiver rip down her spine and she nods again. He presses another kiss to the spot right below her ear, one arm around her waist and the other around her back, his hand solid against her spine.

He pulls back after brushing one last kiss along her jaw and she doesn't think at all when she leans forward and kisses him for real, like she's been wanting to all day (all _week_ ). She's distantly aware of the spray of the shower against them as she winds her arms around his neck. It _is_ too much, she thinks – the way he's pressed against her, the rush and swirl of adrenaline and desire - but she can't make herself stop.

He has more willpower than her, it seems, because he does stop, eventually, pulling back with a low groan and placing both of his hands on her hips to push her away ever so slightly. “Cameras,” he says, though she doesn't need the reminder.

“Cameras,” she agrees, embarrassingly out of breath.

“I didn't think this date through,” he mutters, seemingly to himself as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back under the shower spray. She must make some sort of noise in her confusion because he looks back at her and then brings one hand up to tug at the strap of her bikini. “Killing me with this,” he says with a frown and she can't help the giggle that bubbles up in her throat.

“I could say the same,” she grins at him and pushes at his chest and he pretends to be knocked back, though she barely put any force behind it and she rolls her eyes at his dramatics.

There's an undercurrent of tension that their attempts at lightness can't completely cut through, and Jon turns to where production is and says “I think we're clean,” which seems to signal the end of the date.

She's lead back to the changing room and dries off as best she can and puts her clothes back on, though her hands shake a bit as she does (she's just hungry, she tells herself.)

Sam leads her out to the transport van when she's done (Jon's is already gone, of course) and he seems uncomfortable and won't look her in the eye and when they're finally in the van, she begins to laugh.

“Sorry you had to see that,” she giggles at the way Sam flushes red.

“I'm just glad you two had fun,” Sam says and she knows he means it. “I didn't really watch.”

“Well, everyone else did,” she sighs (though it honestly doesn't bother her as much as it probably should?)

“Most of them have been working in reality TV for decades, I guarantee they've seen _much_ worse,” Sam tells her. “Your dates are probably boring, actually.”

* * *

She's able to properly shower to get ready for the night portion of the date, but with the producers right out in the common area, she decides its best if she just takes a cold shower to try and tamp down her libido. She feels hot and like her skin is stretched too tight over her body and she curses Jon Snow and his effect on her. It's like the massage and mudbath never happened with how tense she is again.

The blue dress she chose for tonight is one of her altered ones, she only packed one custom dress in her travel suitcase because she honestly hadn't expected _two_ one on ones. She wants to believe that he chose her for a second because he likes her the most, but there's a small part of her that wonders if he was just trying to make up for the rock climbing date because he felt guilty.

Sam sneaks her in real food, a full sandwich and not just protein bars, and she decides that she loves Samwell Tarley.

“Ok, you need to talk about your family,” Sam tells her in the van on the way to the night date. “Remember you're trying to convince him to give you the rose for hometowns.”

“Right,” she breathes, feeling suddenly nervous again. “Easy enough, I guess. Gods, it'll be weird if he _does_ meet my family.”

Jon's already waiting at the little table set up with food (that she's not allowed to eat) and she thought she'd calmed down a bit, but seeing him sends her entire body into overdrive again.

“Hi,” she says, annoyingly breathless at the sight of him.

“Hi,” he smiles and leans down to kiss her and she almost wishes he wouldn't. Why does she have to be so attracted to him? It's _infuriating_. She was _never_ this attracted to Harry.

( _Maybe that was the problem_ , a small voice whispers in her brain. _Maybe it wasn't_ you _that was boring. Maybe it was_ him.)

“So, tell me about your family,” Jon says once they've sat down, and she can tell Brienne prompted him to talk about this, too.

“Um, well, they're... a lot.” She frowns, because that wasn't what she had planned to say, but it makes Jon laugh. “I already mentioned my siblings. I have a sister and three brothers and... a Theon, though I'm not sure he'd be there since he isn't technically family. And mom and dad. They're...” Her mouth opens but no words come out and she eventually lets out an annoyed huff of air. “I don't know why I'm finding it so hard to describe them,” she admits. “Like, I don't know how to boil them down into a few words. Does that make sense?”

“Definitely,” he laughs. “Any time I try to describe my mom, it never comes out sounding right.”

“Right? Like, you just have to meet them,” she agrees.

“Seven, you two are the worst,” Cersei interrupts. “Sansa, you need to talk about them or I'm going to have nothing for this date.”

Sansa tries her hardest not to glare at Cersei (she fails), and then turns back to Jon. “Ok, my dad is... well, he'll seem really serious and probably scary at first, but he's totally not. He's really just a big teddy bear under everything. Also, he makes the dumbest jokes, just pretend to laugh and he'll like you. My mom can also be scary, I've heard.” (From Harry, she thinks. Harry hated her mom. Harry hated her whole family, actually.) “I already mentioned Robb, he's a year older than me. Um, he's really into football, so beware. So is Arya. Blanket warning for all of my siblings, actually. Bran's four years younger and he's a genius. Rickon's the baby and he can be a little wild...” She trails off when she realizes that she's probably doing the opposite of convincing Jon to come meet her family, but when she looks up at him, she finds him grinning.

“It's just... it can be a lot for people,” she remembers how Harry used to avoid family functions, used to make excuses or outright tell her he _couldn't deal_ with her family. Eventually, she ended up staying behind, too, when he made her feel guilty enough. “But they're everything to me. I lost them for a bit. I didn't understand how important they were until I realized I was avoiding them because I wasn't proud of who I was - who I became down south.”

“I can't imagine what it must be like to have a big family,” Jon's hand finds hers under the table. “I think about that sometimes. What it would have been like to grow up with siblings.”

“I hated it when I was younger,” she admits. “I always felt like I didn't belong because I didn't like sports or playing outside and they all did. My dad worked a lot and my mom was busy taking care of all of us, and sometimes I felt like I got lost in the chaos, you know? But now I look back and I can't imagine it being any other way. Was it just you and your mom?” She hasn't heard Jon talk about any other family and so she's pretty sure he's an only child, but she wants him to tell her that.

“Mostly, yeah. Just us against the world.” For a brief moment he frowns and something dark passes through his expression, but it clears up quickly. “I have a half sister that I'm close to,” he says slowly and that surprises her. “Rhae. She's a few years older than me. Aegon's my half brother. Their mom, Elia, she was... she was nicer than she had to be.” He doesn't expand on that, but the frown is back. “I used to visit them in Dorne during the summers. She could have hated me. Elia, I mean. She could have hated my mom, but she _didn't_. She was always nice. She sent us birthday cards. She didn't have to do any of that.” Jon's hand is tight in hers and she wonders if he realizes he's talking. He's staring at the table and his eyes are far away, like he's lost in thought. “After she died, Egg changed and-”

That does it, she realizes, that sentence snaps him out of it and he looks back up at her and then over to where production is hiding.

“Break?” she hears Brienne's voice and the woman emerges from behind a tree.

Brienne doesn't wait for an answer and comes over to them and then Sam trots out and hands Sansa a water bottle. They take a bathroom break and Sansa spends the entire time confused by the abrupt shift in tone, the way Brienne immediately cut in.

“You knew Jon's dad, right?” she asks Sam as she watches Jon talk to Brienne on the other side of the dinner set. He seems to be saying something to her and Cersei, it looks serious. “He barely mentioned him, but he talked about his stepmom?”

Sam shrugs and looks uncomfortable. “I didn't really know Jon's dad. My dad and his dad worked together, or something. Dad never really told me anything business related. But our summer house was down in Dorne and that's where I met Jon. We spent almost every summer together, but we lost touch during college. Anything other than that, I don't think you should hear from me.”

Sansa sighs. “No, you're right. I shouldn't have asked. I just... I feel like I'm trying to put this puzzle together with all these missing pieces and it's _infuriating_.”

This is the closest she's come to admitting to anyone how confused and anxious and nervous she is about this whole production. And it's stupid, really, to think that knowing every little detail about Jon's family will somehow give her clarity into what she _really_ wants to know, which is how he feels about her - if this is all just a contractual obligation to him or if he actually _feels_ something.

“What I can tell you,” Sam says, putting a hand to her shoulder, “is that the Jon I knew was a good guy.”

Before she has a chance to question Sam on his choice of the word _was_ , Brienne and Cersei are calling them back.

This time, she notices the rose on the table immediately and Jon barely hesitates before picking it up. “Sansa,” he holds it out to her, “I'd love to meet your family.”

Despite her doubts, despite the unease of Sam's _was_ , she feels herself break out into a grin as she takes the rose from his hand.

* * *

When Myranda leaves for her one on one, it's quiet in the suite. Sansa has her rose, which means Jon is coming to her hometown (and _gods_ , the more she thinks about it, the more she worries). He has to pick three others for hometowns, so if Myranda gets her rose, that means there's only two roses left for the group date.

She doesn't want to think about who's going home or, more specifically, which families Jon is going to get to meet. She doesn't really want to think about the fact that in a few days, they'll be down to four girls and all of them are smart and wonderful and beautiful and as much as she thinks she has a connection with Jon, they could have one, too. Hell, they could have a _better_ one.

They're _all_ tense, and so Arianne tries to lead them in a yoga session, except she's not trained like Missandei had been and so they all sort of collaborate on the activity, piecing together their remembered bits from Missandei's lessons. It's a decent enough distraction, but at the end, she's just as tense as she had been in the beginning.

It's mostly just her questioning her own feelings, Jon's, the other girl's, but it's also a bit of leftover sexual frustration, which she has honestly never had to deal with before. None of her past boyfriends _ever_ made her feel the way Jon does and they certainly never left her aching like this (though she understands this is probably what production wants and so she's mad at her own body for falling into their trap).

She can also sense the other girls are just as on edge as she is, though none of them are really talking about it. She knows Gilly isn't into Jon and she's still pretty sure Margaery wants Bachelorette, but Arianne, Val, and Myranda all seem to really like Jon, too, and that upsets her, because what if one of them wins? What if they're happy with Jon? Will it hurt more or less if he ends up with someone she actually _likes_? And what if _she_ wins? She doesn't want to hurt any of them.

The scariest part, she thinks, is what if - once they're off the show and away from production – what if it turns out she feels nothing at all? What if all her feelings for Jon are just show manufactured and not really there?

It's terrifying, because she doesn't _want_ them to be fake. It's been _so long_ since she's felt this way about someone, that she's been excited to see them and just _talk_ to them. She forgot what it was like to be into a guy and not have him make you feel like shit. She wants this to be real, she wants _Jon_ to be real. And as much as it would hurt to find out that Jon was just acting this whole time, she thinks it would be worse if it turns out _she_ was acting this whole time. She doesn't want to go back to feeling empty. She doesn't want to go back to her rut. She _can't_ go back to that. Even if her heart is broken at the end of this, at least it will be _real_.

So when the door opens and an intern takes Myranda's bag away, she allows herself to _feel_ the heady mix of emotions – the grief of losing Myranda without being able to say goodbye and the horrible excitement at being one step closer.

If this is all fake, if none of this is real, then she's going to spend as much time as she has left just _feeling_.

* * *

“Wow, this sucks,” Arianne says as she, Gilly, Val, and Margaery are all about to leave for their group date. Three of them will be moving on to hometowns and one will be leaving and Sansa hugs each of them tightly before they go. She knows she won't be seeing one of them again once they head out that door.

“I hate this,” she tries to laugh when she gets to Gilly.

“I think it's gonna be me,” Gilly whispers in her ear as they hug. “But I'll see you when all of this is over, ok? I'm gonna make Sam give me your number.”

Sansa feels her throat close and she squeezes Gilly tighter and says, keeping her voice as low as possible to fight off tears, “you are the _only_ reason I got through this.”

“Same,” Gilly laughs and then pushes her away, blinking rapidly.

“Can you two stop, you're gonna ruin my makeup,” Margaery rolls her eyes and Sansa is surprised to see that she, too, seems to be a bit emotional. And here she thought Margaery only cared about herself.

The four of them leave and Sansa is left alone in the suite.

The silence of it is deafening and she's almost grateful for the one cameraman and Mel who have both stayed back to keep an eye on her. She won't cry in front of them, though.

She tries to lounge by the pool, tries to swim, takes a long shower and does every pampering thing imaginable, but eventually she ends up on the couch in the common area, staring at the four bags lined up at the door.

The night drags on and she ends up talking to Mel and the cameraman, who's name she discovers is Brandon (she tells him all about her little brother, though she doesn't think he cares). Mel is weird and standoff-ish, but she gets chatty enough when Sansa asks her about the necklace Mel always wears (Mel goes off into a tangent about healing crystals and it gets weirdly religious at some point, but it's better than silence).

When the door opens and an intern comes in, it feels like her heart is trying to climb up her throat and she stares in disbelief as the intern takes Val's bag away.

_Val_ was cut?

She feels completely off-center, because she was so sure it would be Gilly and...

Is this good or bad? Is she happy? She can't tell, this whole thing is so strange and unnatural – she _likes_ Val, they have plans for after the show, but Sansa also assumed that Val was the one Jon liked the most.

Eventually, the other three girls come back and they all look just as confused as Sansa and the four of them stare at each other until Margaery breaks the silence with, “ _right_?”

“How was it not me!” Gilly looks around at them like they'll have the answer.

“I swore it would be me,” Arianne laughs a bit, like she can't believe it and Sansa almost reels at that. _Arianne_ has doubts, too? It's reasonable, this show is designed to make even the most confident of girls doubt themselves, but she always assumed Arianne and Val had their shit together and so seeing Val sent home and Arianne freaking out, it tilts her whole worldview for a moment. (And the fact that Arianne _is_ freaking out solidifies that she feels the same way about Jon that Sansa does and that _sucks_. Gods, this _sucks_.)

“Alright, make sure you're packed and ready to go by noon tomorrow,” Loras comes in the room and seems oblivious to their emotional distress. “Once we're back in King's Landing, you'll all be headed home.”

He says it so casually, but the word _home_ is like a punch to the gut. In a few days, she'll be _home_. She'll get to see her family again and the idea makes her knees weak (she can see the same relief on Gilly's face).

They don't talk anymore as they get ready for bed, because what else is there to say?

When she gets into bed, she tries to focus on the idea of her family, of finally getting to talk to mom and Arya again, of seeing her brothers and hearing her dad's deep, calming voice. No matter what happens, she reminds herself, at least she'll always have her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to tell everyone who is reading this that you are a joy and wonderful and I appreciate each and every one of you.
> 
> (I had a rough time writing this chapter and I'm still not sure I'm completely satisfied, so I hope it's ok??)
> 
> Bach facts! We're gonna start off by talking about the Dany situation: yes, going to his room would have been her idea, but it also has to be approved by production for her to do it. The likely order of events was: 1) she was upset that her date didn't go well and expressed this to her producer, 2) the producer said something like 'if you need to talk to him, you should do that, you deserve to be heard' (or some other supportive sounding nonsense), 3) her only friend in the house got sent home, 4) she would have obsessed about the Jon thing for hours with no one to talk to about it with Missandei gone until 5) deciding to go to his room, which the producers would have approved/encouraged. 
> 
> This happens... honestly at least once a season to varying levels of success (either the contestant interrupting a group date they aren't on or going to the lead's room). Sometimes they're sent straight home, sometimes the lead reassures the person and lets them stay. I guess sometimes they have sex but they don't usually show that in the edit because it would ruin the “romance”. Also, I'm sure most of you wanted to see Dany being sent home, but this is from Sansa's POV and she absolutely would not have been privy to that. Maybe we'll get a dramatic retelling later.
> 
> Bach stats! In honor of Val being sent home: the First Impression Rose has been given in 19 of the 24 completed seasons of the Bachelor and in 13 of the 16 Bachelorette seasons (although season 16 had two Bachelorettes and therefore two first impression roses were given. Confusing!)
> 
> Of the 19 first impression roses given, only 2 Bachelors gave it to their eventual winners (though, does Sean Lowe count? He apparently gave out TWELVE first impression roses, including one to his future wife Catherine. The other was Peter Weber, who gave it to Hannah Ann, who he broke up with almost immediately after the show, then kind of tried to pick up his runner up Madison but that failed and then he eventually dated one of the other girls from his season, but they broke up recently. The only thing Peter ever did that I liked was hit his head on a golf cart. Mike should've been Bachelor, don't @ me)
> 
> Of the rest, 2 were runners up, 1 was... kind of a runner up? She was in the final two but Brad Womack (in his first go as Bachelor) picked neither final girl. 4 were final three, and 2 were final four. The rest were not even close. At least 3 of the first impression girls were later given a villain edit.
> 
> The Bachelorettes, once again, have a better track record. Of the 14 first impression roses given, 7 were to the eventual winners, 2 to the runner ups, and 1 to a final four. 
> 
> (Did I make an excel spreadsheet while researching this? Absolutely not. Definitely not. That would be weird and obsessive.)
> 
> (These end notes are getting longer and longer. Do I have a problem?)


	8. Week 8

The wait is agonizing.

She's in Winterfell, but she's not allowed to see her family, not yet. She knows production has talked to them, will be setting up cameras in her home, all without her there. _She_ gets to sit in a hotel room and wait and wait and wait.

Jon's starting in Dorne with Arianne's family, then moving up to the Reach with Margaery. Then it's to Winterfell, to _her_ , and then he'll be heading even further north, to Mole's Town for Gilly.

Sam won't tell her how the other two Hometowns have gone.

“I wasn't there,” he tells her with a shrug and she almost kicks the leg of a nearby chair in her frustration (it's possible, she thinks, that she's been cooped up in this hotel room for far too long. She hasn't been _alone_ in nearly two months and now suddenly that's all she is and it's driving her slowly insane.)

“Maybe you're keeping secrets from me,” she grumbles (she sounds exactly like a petulant child, and this is confirmed when Sam gives her a _look_.)

“I'm not hiding anything from you, I promise,” he sighs. “They don't tell me anything. They _never_ tell me anything.”

Maybe he's not keeping anything from her intentionally, but...

“The other week, you said that Jon _was_ a good man,” she says, emphasizing the _was_ so he knows it's a question.

“Yeah?” Sam seems confused.

“Was. Past tense. You said the Jon you knew _was_ good. Like, not _is_ good, _was_ good.”

Sam opens his mouth like he's about to argue but then there's a moment when he falters.

“No,” he protests weakly, then kind of slumps down onto the couch. “Look, I lost touch with Jon before college, I haven't seen him since we were – what, seventeen? I don't really know him anymore and, I mean... he's pretty famous now, right? That changes people. But he's still _good_. He has to be.”

There's a sadness to Sam's voice and it hits her suddenly. “You don't know why he's here, either.”

Sam rubs his hands across his face, but doesn't deny it.

“Do you think it's because of that bar fight?”

“When have you _ever_ heard of an athlete getting in trouble for that? Remember that one tennis guy who beat his girlfriend in an elevator? Barely lost sponsors because of it.”

“So you've been trying to figure it out, too?”

“They won't let me near him, not alone,” Sam's voice is still sad and she feels terrible for him. “It's because they don't want him to have someone to talk to. Kind of like you guys, you know? Keeping you feeling isolated. Shit, I shouldn't tell you that...”

“It's not like we don't know,” she rolls her eyes and sits next to him on the couch. “I didn't realize it was bothering you that much.”

“Jon was... Jon was nice to me. A lot of people weren't, back then. And it's not his fault we stopped talking, I went off to the Citadel and got lost in work and he got busy, too, and we just... and I think maybe we were both trying to get away from our dads and since we knew each other _because_ of them, we didn't want the reminder, you know? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” she nods, and they sit in silence for a bit.

“I don't want him to be different,” Sam eventually breaks it, voice low. “The Jon I knew would _never_ do this show. At the beginning, I didn't even _want_ to talk to him because I thought, if he's changed this much, he's not the guy I knew. But over the weeks, I kept thinking - he seems miserable, doesn't he?”

“Like he hates it? _Yes_ ,” she breathes, feeling both relieved and vindicated. “It feels like Cersei is always having to bully him into doing what she wants-”

“And they're always arguing!” Sam continues excitedly, like he, too, is relieved and vindicated. Then his excitement drops and he frowns. “If I were better at my job, maybe they'd tell me more or let me be in on the important meetings like they do with Loras. Even Mel gets more information than I do.”

“I'm glad you aren't like them,” she grabs Sam's hand and gives it a squeeze. “You're too good for this place. And I know Gilly appreciates that you aren't like them...”

That gets her a blush and she can't help the grin that breaks out on her face. Sam just shrugs and won't look at her as the flush creeps up his neck and into his cheeks and she thinks even if it turns out that Jon isn't the person they want him to be, at least they've found a friendship in Gilly, in each other - and who knows, maybe more than friendship for Sam and Gilly (and if they're both too shy to do it themselves, well, she doesn't mind meddling a bit.)

* * *

They day of her date dawns bright and clear and sunny, the air clean and crisp. Autumn in Winterfell is her favorite and it's just starting to turn. It's a perfect day.

She starts it by dry heaving over the toilet in her hotel suite. When she's finally done, when her body realizes there's nothing in her stomach to throw up, she stands up and washes her shaking hands and looks at her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes and she wonders – why now? Why this? Why is this the moment her brain decides to go into a full panic?

It's a combination of things, she decides as she dabs concealer under her eyes - it's seeing her family for the first time after weeks and weeks of being away. It's seeing her family for the first time in weeks _and_ having it filmed for all of Westeros to see.

(It's the fact that she has no idea how anyone in her family is going to react to this. Sure, Robb signed her up and sure, Arya encouraged her to come on, but she is very sure neither of them expected it to come to _this_.)

_Jon_ is going to meet her family. What if he hates them? What if he thinks they're too much? There's a part of her that doesn't think she can stand being disappointed in him if he does.

What if he loves her family? What if they get along great and Jon _is_ a good man but he just... doesn't pick her? Is that worse? Is it better? (Is it easier if he's an asshole?)

And it's not just her family – she's going to be showing Jon parts of her life today, even if they're just frivolous activities. She hasn't planned anything serious, they won't be deep-diving into her psyche, but even this, she's still taking a part of her that she loves and cherishes and she'll be holding it out for him to see and judge and what if he thinks it's stupid or-

She takes a deep, calming breath and closes her eyes because she is building this up in her head. She _knows_ she's doing it (she has been in this hotel room for nearly a week with only Sam to talk to and if this is some sort of torture tactic dreamt up by Cersei to break her - well, it's working).

Later, when Sam comes to get her, she takes one last look at herself in the hotel mirror and thinks – this is it.

* * *

They meet in the park.

When she sees him, her heart makes a mad leap in her chest and her feet move on their own and she throws herself into his arms and she manages at the last moment to remember _not_ to wrap her legs around his waist. She _will not_ be that girl, Cersei hasn't broken her that much.

“Missed you,” the words come out in a rush and she immediately wants to take them back (because how _needy_ does she sound? But it's true, she _missed_ him in a way she didn't think was possible.)

She barely hears him say “you, too” before he kisses her, right there in the park where _everyone_ can see and she remembers that for the first time, they're in _public_. And not just public, _Winterfell_. She's sure at least one person is taking photos of them, and _those_ will get sent to _The Reality Whisperer_ and people looking for spoilers will know she made it to Hometowns.

When he finally pulls back, he gives her a smile that crinkles up the corners of his eyes and he says, “so this is Winterfell, huh?” She groans and pushes at his shoulder, but he's got one arm locked around her waist, so he doesn't go anywhere, and instead he _laughs_. “You said your dad liked bad jokes, I'm practicing.”

“He likes when you laugh at _his_ bad jokes,” she sighs. “I don't need _two_ of you.”

“Alright,” he grins, “so where are you taking me?”

She tries to quell her nerves as they head to the first activity and when they get there, Jon looks up at the building and asks, “ice skating?”

“We used to come here all the time when I was a kid, I _swore_ I was going to be the next Alysane.”

She pulls Jon into Ice World and she's immediately transported back to her childhood – the purple carpeting, the snack bar that sold disgusting hot dogs and lukewarm nachos and big soft pretzels, and, of course, the ice rink surrounded by it's low wall that she had watched her siblings smash into time and again (and maybe, she thinks, she loved ice skating so much because it was the _one_ sport she was better at than everyone else).

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” he laughs as an attendant brings them their skates. “Is this why production asked for my shoe size?”

“Oh come on, everyone in the North knows how to skate!”

“I _learned_ ,” he says, eyeing his skates warily as he ties them up. “But I was more focused on football.”

She's a little out of practice, but she picks it up quick enough and she feels the familiar giddy excitement of speeding across the rink, turning and spinning and the sense of _freedom_. Jon isn't terrible, despite his protests – after a few moments where she had to hold his hands, he gets his balance well enough (though she honestly puts it down to his natural athleticism and not any actual ice skating talent).

She skates circles around him and it's thrilling to watch him laugh (and he doesn't get annoyed or upset at her for being _better,_ like the boys had when she was young. She remembers how she used to pretend to be worse than she was when there was a boy she had a crush on here, and she hates that memory).

When Cersei calls an end to it, it's a jarring experience because she had _genuinely_ forgotten the show and the cameras and for a wonderful half hour, it had just been her and Jon and the ice and her freedom.

But now they're back and they're loaded into separate shuttles and taken to the next place. (She's less anxious about this one, there's no way Jon could hate it here.)

When Jon gets out of the van and sees the sign for Luwin's Waffle Shoppe, he barks out a laugh and looks at her and says, “really?”

“Really. You disrespected them the first night we met and I've been holding a grudge ever since.”

The little bell over the door _dings_ and Mr. Luwin grins at her from behind the counter. The little shop is filled with people sitting at tables, but Sansa can tell they're all interns and crew members dressed to look like normal patrons and it weirds her out a bit to see. Even Sam is sitting in one of the little booths, with one of the interns, Pod, across from him.

She shakes off the strangeness and drags Jon up to the counter to order and Mr. Luwin gives a spiel about the waffles and the ice cream and topping choices, but Sansa doesn't listen, she already knows what she wants.

“Let me guess,” Mr. Luwin says when he's done, “lemon supreme?”

“Definitely,” she grins as one of the shop assistants (a nervous looking kid who must be in college), starts to scoop out the vanilla ice cream and mix it with chopped lemon bars. “What are you getting?”

To be completely honest, she _never_ would have pegged Jon for a chocolate-on-chocolate-on-chocolate kind of person, but that's what he picks and she watches Mr. Luwin mix chocolate chunks into chocolate ice cream, place it on it's waffle base, and then drizzle chocolate syrup over the the whole thing.

“I can _feel_ you judging me,” he keeps his voice low so no one can hear (though they're mic'd and so production still can).

“I just figured you'd go for something...” she doesn't know how to finish that sentence, because she doesn't really know _anything_ about Jon. She doesn't know his favorite color or what kind of movies he likes or how he takes his coffee (does he even drink coffee?) or... _anything_.

Mr. Luwin hands Jon his order and then hers and she can smell the lemon drizzle and when they sit at one of the booths, she looks down at her waffle and-

“Wait, are we actually allowed to eat?” she looks over at Cersei, who just rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but make sure you aren't chewing if you're going to talk about anything interesting.” Sansa thinks she hears Cersei mutter something about how they're _never_ interesting and she takes a strange sort of pleasure in that.

  
She _loves_ her lemon supreme, but she gets distracted while watching Jon wolf his down and it reminds her so suddenly of sitting here with her family – mom scolding Robb and Arya for eating theirs just like this. _Jon would fit right in_ , a part of her brain whispers and she tries to shake that out.

“Ok,” he says when he's finally done, leaning back in the booth and letting one hand come to rest on his stomach, “you win. That was great.”

“I always win,” she says primly, exactly like she would have to Robb or Arya, and then she realizes that he _isn't_ Robb or Arya and-

He laughs, resting his head back against the booth, too. “Noted.”

Jon seems contented and she likes this Jon, it reminds her of post-massage Jon who felt relaxed and somehow more _real_. She tries not to think about that (what's real, what isn't) as she finishes up hers and just as she's almost done, she feels Jon nudge her foot under the table. She looks up to find him giving her a little smile and she smiles around the spoon in her mouth and nudges his foot back.

“You excited to see your family?” he leans forward and she feels his foot come to rest fully against hers under the table.

“Excited. Nervous. I don't know why I'm nervous, they're _my_ family. _You_ should be nervous.”

“Oh, I am, don't worry,” he reaches out and into her bowl and grabs a bit of remaining waffle and she lets out an indignant gasp at the _audacity_.

“I think it would help if you were more outwardly nervous,” she tells him, pulling her bowl towards her and wrapping her arm protectively around it. “Although by now you're a pro, since you've already...” she trails off because she suddenly remembers that he's already done this twice now. He's already met Arianne and Margaery's families. His foot presses into hers for a brief moment. “I'm sure you've met other girlfriend's parents before,” she tries to finish lamely.

There's a moment where he seems to contemplate something and then he shrugs and says, “before now? Just once.”

“Once? You've only met _one_ of your girlfriend's parents?”

“Only had one girlfriend,” he corrects, shifting back in the booth and shrugging, and she notices he's picked up his spoon and is using it to push around melted ice cream in bottom of his bowl. She has enough siblings for the fidgeting to be familiar (Arya used to _shred_ every paper napkin at restaurants and Bran used to cut up his vegetables into a mash).

“Oh,” she says because she doesn't know what else to say. “I guess football stars don't really do _girlfriends_.” (Well that is absolutely the last thing she should have said and she immediately regrets it, because how fucking judgmental did that sound? Just because she's insecure about how many girls he's probably slept with doesn't mean she should take it out on him, that's not fair.) “I mean, I'm sure you're too busy to date,” she amends.

“No,” he says slowly. “Just one girlfriend. Ygritte.” (The name sounds familiar and she remembers, suddenly, the headlines she read about their breakup, a month after his season-ending injury). “We started dating in high school.”

“But you just broke up-”

_Oh_.

“I see you read the articles,” he's frowning and she doesn't think it's a conscious movement, but his foot has moved away from hers and for some reason that makes her heart ache.

“I kind of googled you,” she whispers. “I just read the headlines, it felt weird...”

“It's ok,” he sighs.

“It must have been serious,” she offers. Almost a decade long relationship and now he's _here_?

“That's the problem,” he sort of laughs, but there's no real humor in it, “we weren't. We started dating in high school and when I got a scholarship to White Harbor, she followed me. She tried uni for a bit, but it wasn't for her, and when she found her band, she quit to do that full time. I graduated and moved to Winterfell and she and the band followed, because it was a bigger city. We spent the next few years barely seeing each other. I'd be at practice or away games or she'd be on tour. And when we were together, we didn't really talk-” he falters then, like he realizes the implication, but he doesn't try to deny it (she doesn't want to think about it, but her traitor mind is trying to remember what Ygritte looked like from the articles. She just remembers dyed purple hair and that's it.)

“It worked for us,” he says. “We always got along and it worked - until I got injured and suddenly I was around all the time. Suddenly we had to _talk_ and we realized we were just... completely different people. I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way we got lost and didn't notice. We had never talked about marriage or if we wanted kids or... turns out, we didn't want the same things at _all_. So we broke up.”

“I'm sorry,” she reaches over and grabs his hand because she knows _I'm sorry_ is lame, but she doesn't know what else to say. Her longest relationship was Harry and that was a _disaster_.

“It's ok. More than ok, you know? We're still friends, it wasn't angry or... but of course none of the gossip pages knew any of that. Even if they did, that's hardly entertaining news, is it? They made her out to be this bitch who left me right after I got injured. Made it sound like she was only dating me because of my money and-” he lets out a frustrated sigh and it's strange, she thinks, that he seems more upset about what the press said about Ygritte than the actual breakup. “And random people on the street would say stuff to me about her, like we were friends or like they _knew_ me.”

Something itches at the back of her mind and it takes a few moments to solidify into a full thought.

“The bar fight?”

He winces and nods. “I'm not proud of that. But... you know the other week, you mentioned feeling like suddenly your whole world was gone? What I wanted to say - what I should have said - was I know what that's like. I got injured and they didn't know if it was just for the season or... longer. Football was my whole life, it's all I'm good at. And then Ygritte and I broke up and even though it was mutual, she'd still always _been there_ and suddenly she wasn't. And my mom's up in Last Hearth and she's got her own life and I didn't want to bother her and I just... the guys would take me out drinking cause they didn't know what else to do. That night, this guy kept trying to talk to me all night about the injury and Ygritte and after a few hours I kinda lost it.”

“Why didn't you tell me the other week?” She's surprised when he lets out a genuine snort of laughter.

“Because I didn't want to talk about getting drunk and punching some guy on our first date?”

She feels her face heat and she tries to suppress the giddy smile that threatens to break out because _he was worried about what she thought of him_?

She gives his hand a squeeze and under the table, his foot presses against hers again.

* * *

Back at the hotel, Sam is quiet as she changes for the night.

“He sounds like Jon. Whenever you talk to him, he sounds like Jon.”

“You heard all that?” she calls through the door.

“I wasn't sitting that far away.”

He doesn't speak again and neither does she and she thinks maybe they're both trying not to get their hopes up.

* * *

When they pull up to her house, she almost loses it and she needs a moment to compose herself.

Jon's SUV is already there and they're both let out at the same time – Jon with a bouquet of lilies in hand.

“Your mom likes these, right?” he nods at the flowers and she grins (she figured this would happen when production asked her).

“Ok, I really should have done this earlier, but remember that blanket warning about my siblings? Just...”

“It'll be fine,” he says, though she can tell he's nervous, too, and so he doesn't quite pull off the confidence he's going for. She takes his hand (for his sake, not to calm herself down, definitely not) and they walk up to her front door and she tries to focus on Jon's hand in hers and not the pounding of her heart or the tightness in her stomach.

She opens the door and the first thing she sees is her mom and she has the sudden and overwhelming urge to run into her mom's arms and cry like a child, but she holds herself back. Her family is standing in the living room and her whole heart _aches_ seeing them again. She wants to tell them _everything;_ she wants them to tell her everything she missed while she's been away.

Mom is the first to move, walking forward and then Sansa's caught up in a familiar hug with that familiar perfume and she has to squeeze her eyes closed to keep from crying and she swallows against the lump in her throat. Jon still hasn't let go of her hand and she realizes it's because she's got his in a death grip. “My baby,” mom whispers in her ear. “I missed you so much.”

She's shifted into her dad's arms and she loses Jon's hand at that point and she thinks maybe her dad is trying to kill her with how hard he's squeezing her.

(It feels like that day she showed back up in Winterfell after leaving the Eyrie, after leaving Harry. They hadn't questioned a thing – her silences and absences – just pulled her into hugs and told her they missed her.)

Dad finally lets her go and she's thankful none of her siblings rush forward to hug her because she needs a moment to collect herself (and really, it's not _like_ her siblings to hug. She's the hugger of the family.)

Arya is standing with her arms crossed and Sansa wonders how close she is to telling the cameras pointed at them to fuck off. Rickon looks a _bit_ too excited to be on TV. Bran doesn't seem to notice them at all. Robb is leaning awkwardly against the far wall and Sansa doesn't understand his whole _vibe_. What is he _doing_? She doesn't have time to worry about it, though, because Jon is _talking to her mom_.

“These are for you,” Jon is saying and any sign of nerves is gone and she wonders how he does it.

“Oh, lilies,” mom smiles, “how lovely. They're my favorite.”

“Sansa told me,” Jon smiles back, then turns to shoot that smile at her and Sansa's heart flutters (this is going well!).

“I'll go put these in water,” mom says and takes the flowers from Jon's hand and she leaves the room.

And that's when it starts.

“Ned Stark,” dad says, coming forward and shaking Jon's hand, “big fan.”

She just barely contains her groan of horror as dad continues enthusiastically shaking Jon's hand well past the point of decency as Robb shifts into a different lean against the wall.

“Dad,” she hisses and dad, thankfully, drops Jon's hand. “Jon, my dad, obviously. And this is Robb-”

“Hey, man,” Robb gives a weird, jerky nod and _what_ is this? What is this awkward lean and...

“Do you remember when Robb tried to ask out Wyn Manderly?” Arya sidles up next to her and whispers, looking pointedly over at where Robb is leaning and Sansa has a sort of war flashback to high school, of Robb lounging against the lockers and running his hand through his hair and pretending to be much cooler than he was.

“Oh gods,” she whimpers and turns to look at Arya, eyes wide.

“I got this,” Arya pats her arm reassuringly, then turns to Jon and Robb. “Oi, Snow.” Jon turns and raises an eyebrow at her. “I stalked you online,” Arya says and Sansa feels her stomach drop ( _not helping!_ ), “and you said in an interview that you thought Aemon the Dragonknight was the best swordsman that ever lived?”

Jon's eyes widen a bit. “Wow, that was from _ages_ ago.” (He looks... impressed? There's no way he's impressed.) “I don't even remember the context. But yeah.”

“Ugh,” Arya sighs and rolls her eyes, “and here I thought maybe you would've come to your senses in your old age. _Obviously_ Syrio Forel is the greatest swordsman. He would have danced _circles_ around Aemon.”

“Huh,” Jon says, blinking at her. “I'd normally say it's rude to tell someone they're wrong in their own home, but... you're wrong?”

“ _No no no no no_ ,” Sansa hears herself saying. She looks around for mom, but she's still out of the room and Sansa tries to think of a way to calmly and casually stop this as Arya starts going on about _water dancing_ or something and Jon looks deeply offended.

“You shouldn't argue with her,” Bran cuts in dryly. “She's got an entire collection of medieval weapons in her apartment.”

_Oh no._

She's just about to step in (maybe give a bright, casual laugh and definitely pull Jon away from the clutches of her family) when she hears a noise from the kitchen. She looks through the arched doorway and sees Theon standing outside and tugging at the handle to the sliding glass door that leads out to the back deck.

“ _Theon_?”

“They wouldn't let him be here cause he's not related,” Rickon is suddenly next to her with a feral grin on his face that she _does not_ like. “I think he almost cried.”

“Sans!” Theon calls through the glass when he spots her and starts knocking, “tell them I'm family!”

Rickon gives a wicked little laugh and goes over and begins to taunt Theon through the door while Arya and Bran discuss the ethics of her weapon collection and Robb leans _oh so casually_ against a side table, like he's five minutes away from pulling out a comb and running it through his hair, greaser-style.

“We've been here for ten minutes,” she whispers to no one in particular as her siblings devolve into absolute _chaos_ in front of her.

“Kids!”

Catelyn Starks clear, sharp voice rings through the room and everyone shuts up immediately and Sansa sighs in relief.

“Dinner is ready, please all head in and take your seats. Jon, dear, you'll be next to Sansa, she can show you where. Theon, go home.”

The last part she says loud enough for Theon to hear through the glass and without waiting for anyone to answer, she goes back into the dining room. Robb moves first and, thankfully, the rest of them go without argument.

“I'm sorry,” she says to Jon, hanging back for a moment, and he looks at her in confusion, but they don't have a chance to talk further because mom is calling for her. Bless her mother, she thinks as she leads Jon to the dining room and his seat. It seems like mom is the only sane person here.

“Well, I was going to make my famous stew,” mom says, eyeing the dishes of food on the table, “but _these people_ insisted we get catering. Like I can't cook enough to feed my own family...” Mom throws a sharp glare at where Cersei is standing in the other room and Sansa almost drops her head to the table because _really_? Mom too?

Dinner feels... surprisingly normal. They're eating, which means likely none of this will get to air (unless one of them does something extra dramatic, she supposes, eyeing Rickon), and so they're allowed to talk about whatever they want, Cersei doesn't try to stop them. There are cameras on them, but most of the crew is out in the living room because there isn't enough room in the dining room for everyone. So, barring the cameras, it feels like a real dinner.

Conversation turns, of course, to football relatively quickly. She has half a mind to stop it, but when she turns to look at Jon, he seems excited and more animated than usual, hands moving and gesturing enthusiastically as he eats. They're talking about the Direwolves lineup from nearly two decades ago, the one that had dropped them into the bottom of their league, and Sansa _should_ be lost, but it turns out she's absorbed more about football than she knew over the years. The names of the players mean nothing to her and the stats are over her head, but she finds she can understand the basic ideas of the plays and positions and who even _is_ she?

Bran and mom are having their own side discussion, neither interested at all in football, and normally Sansa would be a part of that, except... Jon looks so happy and she can't help but watch him as he talks. It's so clear to her that he _loves_ football – not just playing, but everything about it, and she understands how lost he must have been when he was injured. She remembers the brief few weeks after it happened when dad and Robb talked of nothing else except that the Direwolves might lose their star player for good, and she has the overwhelming urge to touch him – to wrap her arms around him or even just hold his hand. (And she remembers how he'd said that football was the only thing he was good at and she regrets not saying anything about that.)

Halfway through, as Arya and Robb begin to squabble over some old childhood argument, Jon turns to her and says, “sorry. It's just been a long time since I could talk about football like this, without it being about me or what someone wants...” he trails off, looking down at his plate like he feels guilty.

Should she be upset that he's spent most of the night talking to her family and not her? Should she be upset that it's a topic she doesn't particularly care about and can't exactly participate in? Maybe, but she's not; all she can feel is a contented sort of warmth in her chest.

“Just wait, they'll get to you eventually,” she jokes and taps his foot with hers under the table. “I'm sure my family has _a lot_ of opinions about how the team should be playing. I'm surprised they haven't tried to backseat coach you yet.”

Jon looks back up at her and _grins_ and that warmth spreads through her whole body.

It's too soon, _too soon_ , that they're finished eating and Cersei comes back into the room to instruct them on the rest of the night. Sansa knows how this goes – she and Jon will pair off with different family members and be forced to talk about each other and their relationship. She's anxious to talk about it with her parents (she knows this whole situation is bizarre, there's no way they're ok with it), but she's even more anxious for them to talk to Jon while she isn't there.

To her horror, Jon is sent off with her mom first and she fights a mini existential crisis as Cersei pulls her aside.

“You need to say you love him,” Cersei says and it takes a moment for the words to register.

“What?”

Cersei sighs and plasters on what Sansa thinks is _supposed_ to be a reassuring smile. “You've seen the show, this is where you say you love him. I'm sure you realize that if you don't, it'll just show him that you're not invested in this.”

Her heads spins and she looks around for Sam, but he isn't here. Why is Cersei talking to her? Why isn't Sam here?

( _Sam wouldn't make you say it_ , the last rational part of her brain whispers.)

“But I don't...” she falters.

_Does_ she love him?

The logical part of her knows that she doesn't. It's too soon, she barely knows him. But oh, _oh_ does it feel like she does. She knows that's the point of this whole thing, that's what this show is designed to do – isolate her from real life, make her entire _world_ about the Bachelor, make her compete for him, crave his attention. She knows this, her brain knows this, but it feels _so real_.

“I'm not saying this will happen, but the girls who don't say it? They tend to get cut.” Cersei pats her on the cheek with a little condescending smile and leaves it at that, walking back over to the cameras and Sansa is made to go sit with her dad on the couch in one of the upstairs guest bedrooms (the one that used to be Robb's before he moved out).

Can she say it? Can she tell Jon she loves him when it might not be real?

She and her dad sit on the couch in silence for a little while she gathers herself and the camera sets up. Dad isn't a talker, unless it's about football, so she knows she'll have to probably start and carry this conversation.

“I know this is weird,” is the first thing out of her mouth and dad gives a little laugh and a smile.

“You could say that.”

“Mr. Stark, if you could ask Sansa how she feels about Jon.”

Sansa whips her head up at the sound of Sam's voice and he shoots her an apologetic look, but doesn't explain where he had been (she can guess, though. Told to stand back by Cersei. Sam may be kind to her, but this is still his job, Cersei is still his boss).

“Alright,” dad clears his throat. “How do you feel about Jon?”

“I...” she can't find any words because she _doesn't know_. If this was fifteen minutes ago, if this was before Cersei, she thinks she would have been able to say how much she likes him, but now she's questioning everything. “He's kind to me. I'm not sure I'm used to that. I know that sounds stupid and I know this whole... _journey_ is strange and I'm sure you don't approve-”

“Sansa,” dad interrupts and reaches out to take her hands in his. “I trust you. I trust that you know what you're doing and that you'll make the right decision for yourself.”

The words catch her off guard and she almost reels back and she blinks rapidly against the tears building behind her eyes. “But... after... how can you trust me to make _any_ decisions.”

“You have too big of a heart,” dad smiles and she thinks it almost looks a little sad. “You always have. You always think the best of people, even when they don't deserve it. But if anything, Harry just proves that you always figure it out. It wasn't us that broke up with him, it was you.”

“Um,” Sam sounds hesitant to interrupt in the following silence, “just a little thing, if we could refrain from using names?”

Dad looks startled and annoyed, like he just remembered the cameras are there and she almost lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. It's strange, she thinks, how people deal with the cameras. She can't forget about them, but it's like some people block them out completely and pretend they don't exist. Different coping mechanisms, she guesses. Sam gestures at them to continue.

“What I mean to say, what I want everyone watching this to know,” dad looks pointedly at the camera and Sansa does let out a small laugh this time, thinking about Cersei's annoyance when she sees this, “is that your mom and I trust you. We don't know Jon. He seems nice enough and he's got the right opinions about football, but we don't know him. We do know you, and your mom and I will support whatever you decide.”

There's a strange sort of weightlessness she feels at the words and she doesn't think it's just about Jon. She's been carrying the Eyrie with her for so long now and she never really realized how scared she was that her family secretly hated her for the distance she caused.

When Sam is satisfied with the footage, he leads dad downstairs and comes back up with mom.

“Ok, same thing, basically,” Sam smiles encouragingly.

Mom seems... less positive than dad and Sansa feels her mood sink a bit. It's not that mom questions her, never says a single negative thing about Jon or the show, but Sansa can feel it in everything she says.

“Dad says you guys trusted me,” she blurts out eventually, when she can't stand it anymore.

“We do,” mom sighs. “But I'm sure you understand how strange this all is and I don't want to see you get hurt again. I only ever want you to be happy and I don't... I'm not sure how any of this can end with no one getting hurt.”

It's not like Sansa hasn't been thinking the same thing but it _sucks_ hearing it from someone else – hearing it from her mother.

She's thankful when Sam wraps it up, even though she feels guilty about it. She doesn't want to be mad her mom, she _shouldn't_ be; she knows mom only has her best interest at heart, but it _hurts_ to hear everything she's been thinking for the past few weeks said out loud. It hurts even worse coming from her mother.

Sam leads her back downstairs where Jon is, and he gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and her stomach sours. What did mom say to him? What did dad say?

This whole night has gone by so quickly, it seems unreal when Cersei instructs them to say goodbye. Mom and dad hug her tightly again and dad shakes Jon's hand (properly this time) and even her siblings get in some hugs before she leads Jon outside.

Out on the street, the SUV is waiting to take him away (she'll have a chance to go back inside and say a proper goodbye to her family, Sam told her). He stops in front of the car and turns to her and says, “this is me,” with a lopsided smile and she wants to roll her eyes at his attempted joke but she can't manage it.

Because this is it. This is the moment. _I love you_. Three words that could mean the difference between moving on to next week or being cut. Three words. She's said them before, to other boyfriends, even when she hasn't quite meant it, but... but she's different now. She doesn't want to say _I love you_ when she doesn't mean it, when all she's looking for is validation.

Would she mean it? If she said it now, would it be true? Her heart says yes, but that voice in the back of her head reminds her that she's on a television show, that none of this is real.

Jon is staring at her and she realizes he's waiting for it. He knows it's coming.

Did Margaery say it? She absolutely would have, she's playing the game.

Did Arianne?

Did Arianne mean it?

She opens her mouth to speak but absolutely _nothing_ comes out, she just stands there as panic rises in her chest and her throat closes up and every word she's ever known disappears from her head.

Eventually, Jon seems to get that she's not going to say anything and he gives her another small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Then he brings his hands up to cup either side of her face and he leans forward and rests his forehead against hers and she hears him whisper “it's ok.”

Then he kisses her, a small, fleeting thing before he pulls back and gets into the SUV without another word. She wants to stop him, her brain _screams_ at her to stop the door from closing but she's frozen to the spot, unable to make her voice work and she watches as the SUV starts up and pulls away from the curb.

Something in her breaks, then. The exhaustion of the day hits her, the exhaustion of _everything_ hits her and before she can stop it, a low sob tears itself from her throat as the tears she's been holding back all night start.

_Cameras_ , she hears in Jon's voice and she turns her back on the camera that's been filming her so that at least it won't catch her face. When she feels someone come up behind her, she manages to choke out, “please leave me alone.”

It's Sam, she realizes and when she looks up at him, she can see him standing between her and the camera, though she knows he'll get in trouble for it. “Take a deep breath,” he says and she does, breathing _in_ and _out_ with him. “Calm down and wait for them to wrap. Can you do that?”

She nods and forces herself to stop crying, wipes at the tears on her cheeks and the makeup she's sure has run. Sam nods at her when he's satisfied and he stays by her side as they head back in. She can see them already taking out the cameras that had been in her home to the waiting vans.

Cersei makes her give an interview to the camera about the night and Sansa has no idea what she says but she's sure she looks like a wreck.

“Why couldn't you say you loved him?” Cersei asks and all Sansa can do is shrug.

When she realizes Cersei won't let her leave until she answers, she gives in – she's _done_ , she'll give Cersei whatever soundbites she wants. “I was too scared,” she lies ( _is_ it a lie?). “I wanted to say it but I just couldn't, because what if he doesn't love me back?”

“Do you think you're going to go home?” Cersei's got a satisfied smile and Sansa nods.

“I think he'll send me home. Is that it? Is that all? What else do you want me to say?”

For a moment Cersei looks taken aback by her offer, but then has Sansa say variations of _I love him_ and _what if he has a stronger connection with the other girls_ and _I'm scared he'll send me home_ until she's finally satisfied and calls to wrap. “You have five minutes to say goodbye.”

Inside, her family is waiting and she loses it again. But this time, there's no cameras and so when Robb, who's the closest to her, comes up and hugs her, there's nothing stopping her from sobbing into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “I never meant it to go this far.”

“No,” she pulls back and shakes her head, but she can't find the words to explain what she's feeling. “I'm just tired,” she says instead, and from the look on Robb's face, she can tell he doesn't believe her. Neither does Arya, who comes up and hugs her next and it's so unlike Arya that it sends Sansa into another fit of tears.

She's eventually pulled away by production to her waiting shuttle and she says one last goodbye to her family. In the SUV, Sam doesn't say anything and she's glad for it. She doesn't know what he'd even say, but she doesn't want to hear it. She wants to wallow in her feelings for a bit – wants to replay every moment of the night and where, exactly it went wrong (she knows. It was the moment Cersei pulled her aside).

Back in the hotel room, when she's alone, she wonders if she should just quit. Cersei's done it, they've finally broken her, she's too tired to fight with them anymore. If she quits now, she won't have to fly all the way back to King's Landing just for the rose ceremony, just so he can send her home.

There's a chance he won't send her home - there's a chance he's glad she didn't say it. But what if he does send her home? What if this is it – what if the last time she ever sees Jon Snow is when he's saying goodbye? He'll send her home and she'll have to hug him one last time and tell him it's ok. And then she'll have to watch as he picks someone else (she wonders if production will let her know who the winner is or if she'll have to find out along with the rest of Westeros).

That night it takes her forever to fall into a restless, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am living for you all. The fact that so many of you are reading this and all the kudos and comments genuinely make my day.
> 
> This turned out... about 3k words longer than it was supposed to be and I hope the Stark meeting was ok? I know it probably wasn't as ridiculous as most of you were hoping, but I sort of tried to take a more realistic approach I guess??
> 
> (and speaking of things that are too long/me being a wordy bitch, I apologize in advance for this long end note, too)
> 
> Bach stats!
> 
> Let's talk about the sheer juggernaut that is the Bachelor Franchise. It's not just the Bachelor, Bachelorette, and Bachelor in Paradise, there's much, much more.
> 
> I've already talked about Winter Games & the international versions, but there was another spinoff pre-Paradise called Bachelor Pad (never watched it) and there was a more recent spinoff called Listen to Your Heart (did not watch it) which was basically the Bachelor with singing.
> 
> Two Bachelor weddings have been aired as TV specials (Jason Mesnick, 2010 & Sean Lowe, 2014) as well as two Bachelorette weddings (Trista Rehn, 2003 & Ashley Hebert, 2012). Three of these marriages are still going strong, but Ashley Hebert & JP Rosenbaum split up in October 2020 after 8 years of marriage. From Bachelor in Paradise, Jade Roper & Tanner Tolbert's wedding was aired as a special in 2016. They are still married (fun fact: Jade once gave birth in a closet.)
> 
> (As a side note, more Bachelor weddings have been aired, not as their own specials, but as episodes of Bachelor in Paradise: Lacy & Marcus (ended up not even being legal lol), Carly & Evan (2017, split in late 2020, I'm still sad about this), and Krystal & Chris (let's not even get into these two holy shit). These are marriages that have been televised, not the only marriages resulting from the show and/or couples still dating.)
> 
> Back to the point of these stats: the franchise. In addition to all these major spinoffs & wedding specials, sister network Freeform aired two shows: Ben and Lauren: Happily Ever After? (answer: no) and The Twins: Happily Ever After (not a question this time, just a statement, I guess).
> 
> There was supposed to be a Bachelor: Live on Stage, which got canceled due to Covid.
> 
> (We aren't going to talk about the Bachelor video game...)
> 
> All of this to say: The Bachelor is a massive franchise. 
> 
> Bachelor premieres average 8.41M viewers (lowest was season 23 Colton Underwood with 5.13M, and the highest was season 4 Bob Guiney at 12.55M). The finales (not After the Final Rose) average 12.12M viewers (lowest was season 22 Arie Luyendyk at 7.94M, which I'm both surprised and not at, because Arie was the worst, but his finale was also WILD and probably the most intense Bachelor TV I've watched? The highest finale was season 2 Aaron Buerge at 25.9M).
> 
> The Bachelorette, unsurprisingly, does less well. Premieres average 8.1M (lowest was season 15 Hannah Brown at 4.78M and highest was season 1 Trista Rehn at 17.44M). Finales average 9.12M (lowest was season 16, the most recent, which started with Clare Crowley and ended with Tayshia Adams, which may be the reason only 5.52M tuned in. The highest was again season 1 Trista Rehn at 20.39M)
> 
> Obviously viewership is on a downward trend, but that's most TV in general, with more channels as well as Netflix & other streaming services giving people... well, other things to watch. But don't worry, the Bachelor Franchise is doing just fine - according to Wikipedia, it brought in $86M in ad revenue in 2017 alone. 
> 
> (I did all this math myself so sorry if some of the numbers are off. Don't fact check me please!)
> 
> Also, guess who spoiled herself for the end of this current season :) That being said, please do not put spoilers in the comments if you know!


	9. Week 9

She doesn't leave.

She's not sure why, but it feels a lot like spite as she boards the plane for White Harbor – that's where they're going next, it turns out, not back to King's Landing like she had thought. Somewhere over the next few days, alone in her hotel room, knowing Jon was being carted off to Mole's Town, she had decided that if her time on this show was over, she was going to make Jon do it. She wasn't going to give him the out, she wasn't going to leave - if he wanted to cut her because she wouldn't say she loved him, then fine, but _he_ had to do it.

(Is she overreacting? Is she being petty? Yes.)

(Is there a part of her that's hopeful he's actually going to keep her, but she's protecting herself by pretending she's not? Also yes.)

* * *

Standing in an airplane hangar is not the way she thought this would go.

She arrives second, walking down the red carpet they'd set up and past the podium with three roses sitting on it like a promise (or a taunt, she can't decide). Margaery is already waiting and soon Arianne joins them. They all greet each other, but there's a strange tension there now with Arianne (Margaery seems completely unaware of it and Sansa welcomes her presence as a buffer.) She hates the tension, hates that she feels any sort of rivalry with Arianne – neither of them asked for this.

(Except you did, her mind whispers. You signed a contract, this is exactly what you signed up for.)

She hasn't seen Sam in almost a week, since he left for Gilly's hometown and she's been under the direct care of Cersei ever since ( _why_ couldn't they have stuck her with Mel? Arianne and Margaery are both Loras's girls, so obviously Mel took one of them during hometowns, but Sansa would have given _anything_ for Mel over Cersei.)

When Sam eventually enters the hangar, she feels a strange relief, but it's short lived when Margaery looks around and whispers, “where's Gilly?”

She's right – the three of them have been standing here for a long time and Gilly hasn't shown up and Sansa feels a pang of worry. She catches Sam's eye and he gives her a small, sad smile with a shrug and she _knows_.

When Jon comes in with Renly, she can barely look him in the eye as he gives a very practiced speech and tells them that he cut Gilly during her hometown and left her in Mole's Town with her son.

There's a moment where Sansa thinks she might cry, when she realizes that that's it, she won't see Gilly again and she has to remind herself that Gilly isn't _dead_ , even if the show makes her absence _feel_ final.

Even though Gilly is gone, they still go through the pointless procedure of the rose ceremony. Jon calls Margaery first and Sansa has to watch her walk up, accept her rose, and give him a hug. Then he calls Arianne and the sour feeling in her stomach is back and only gets worse when Arianne hugs him and takes her rose.

Then it's her turn, he calls her name, and for a wild moment she debates refusing it - break up with him before he breaks her heart, or something like that. Bow out now before she's dumped on national television.

Except she doesn't. She walks forward and takes the rose and gives him the expected hug and walks back to her spot like she's got no control over her own body.

(And maybe she doesn't. Maybe they've truly broken her. Maybe Cersei implanted a chip while she slept and now she's some sort of Bachelor contestant robot.)

* * *

Back in the hotel, Margaery is the only one who talks. She and Arianne are both quiet and she suspects she knows why.

When they're told the order of the fantasy suites, she doesn't cry. She _won't_ cry. She won't give Cersei the satisfaction.

Was it on purpose? Did they put her last because they think she's more likely to break than Arianne? Margaery is first, then Arianne, and Sansa is last and she'll have to spend all week thinking, thinking, _thinking_ about him on the overnight dates with the others.

Cersei sits her down for an interview and grills her about her feelings – if she's surprised to have stayed, if she thinks Jon will have sex with Margaery and Arianne, if she's jealous. She doesn't remember her answers, honestly, but she hopes she gave Cersei a slew of disappointingly boring responses.

* * *

The morning of her date, she feels almost numb.

She gets dressed and meets Jon and they spend the day at the harbor, watching local street performers and eating from food trucks parked along the thoroughfare. Jon is stiff next to her, their conversation stilted and strained and half the time Cersei has to cut in and feed them lines. It's the first time all season that Sansa has felt like she's performing, like she's acting for the audience. She's been fighting it this whole time, but she can't anymore and Jon seems like he doesn't want to, either.

What she hates most is that _this_ is what their last date will be. _This_ is how they'll end, with a pathetic whimper. With a cold, stiff goodbye.

* * *

“She's ok?” Sansa asks as she checks her appearance in the hotel mirror for the last time.

The dress she's wearing for the night date is her absolute favorite, a blue that matches her eyes, one that she's spent countless hours perfecting. She hates that it's going to be forever tied to her last memories of Jon.

“Yeah, she was happy,” Sam nods. “I'm glad he cut her there so she didn't have to fly all the way here and leave her son again. She told me to tell you goodbye and-” he coughs for a moment, turning bright red, “-and she says she loves you and she wishes you, uh, _good luck_ tonight.”

“I wish she were here,” Sansa whispers to her reflection. “I know that's selfish of me, but _gods_ I could have used her this week.”

It's true. Sitting around in the hotel room – especially during Margaery's date when it was just Sansa and Arianne, both of them trying to make conversation, both of them trying to talk around the massive elephant in the room. It was both easier and harder during Arianne's time. Margaery was easier company, but Sansa spent the whole time sick and trying not to picture Jon and Arianne's overnight date.

(She also hated hearing about their hometowns – about Margaery taking Jon to the famous Highgarden briar labyrinth and Arianne's trip to the equally famous water gardens of Sunspear. In contrast, her ice skating date seems childish and stupid.)

* * *

Their night date is just as bad, just as stilted and uncomfortable as the day portion had been. She can't tell if Cersei is annoyed with them or if she's happy they're both saying whatever lines she asks them to with little argument. It's the least herself Sansa has ever been on this awful show, so Cersei is probably in heaven.

She barely remembers what they even say to each other, carefully chosen lines about love that mean absolutely _nothing_ if you actually think about them for five seconds. But she supposes they _sound_ nice and romantic, even if they're empty of any feeling. They speak in generic platitudes.

During a break, she catches one of the interns sliding an envelope under Jon's plate and the urge to vomit is back.

“You can say no,” Sam tells her, like he senses her dread. “It's not the end of the world. They'll spin it fine, they won't make you look bad at this point.”

She's not sure that's true – sure, the end girls usually get a nice edit, but she does not trust Cersei for a minute.

Does she _want_ to say no?

Part of her does. Part of her doesn't want to be alone with him, if this is what they're like now. He can barely seem to stand being around her, he can barely look her in the eye and it nearly sends her into a manic fit of laughter to think that through all of this – through his clear hatred of the show and all the girls he had to get through to this point – _she_ is what finally breaks him. _She's_ the one that finally makes it so unbearable for him to be here that he goes along with the producers.

(Maybe it's only fair, she's broken, too.)

When they're sat back down and the cameras are rolling and Jon pulls the card out from under his plate and says some rote line about joining him for the night, she agrees. She's not sure she even means to, it just comes out, the agreement – so quick and so naturally that for a moment it shakes something loose in her brain and she feels like herself again.

And when she looks at him, for a moment _he_ seems like himself again, but then production is cutting and it's gone. One singular, fleeting moment where they were back to themselves (or maybe it was just her imagination).

Cersei insists on getting shots of them walking to the hotel suite, of them standing at the door and kissing and it feels all _wrong_. She has never been more aware of the cameras when he kisses her – every other time, he's had to remind her that they're being filmed. Every other time, she's lost herself completely in him, but this time it feels like she's in a school play and having to kiss some boy she barely knows while the whole school watches.

_This_ is how it ends?

Finally, Cersei cuts and the cameras are lowered and two PAs come and unhook their mics.

It's surreal, she thinks as she looks around at the assembled production crew. She's gotten to know most of them over the run of the show and now she's standing outside a hotel room while some assistant unzips her dress and pulls off the mic pack taped to her lower back. She can see them doing the same to Jon, his suit shirt rucked up in the back.

She wonders if the crew talks about them – makes bets on whether they'll have sex or not, makes jokes about it. They must get bored during their downtime.

It's then that she realizes that she will.

If Jon wants to, she's going to say yes, she's going to have sex with him. Even if he doesn't pick her in the end, she's going to do it.

(She shouldn't, she knows, but there's a sort of desperation in her to have one last piece of him before she goes.)

The assistant zips her back up and walks away without saying anything else and the cameras are turned back on to get a shot of them entering the hotel room together (she remembers this – sitting on the couch with her friends and watching the door shut behind the couple, their own little jokes and bets about what the two are actually doing behind closed doors).

Jon lets her in the room and she hears the door click shut behind her and all that's left is deafening silence. She's very aware of Jon behind her and very aware that there are no cameras here, no mics, no producers. Just them, for the first time - for _real_.

She can see the overnight bag that she had packed earlier sitting off in the corner next to another that must be Jon's and the sight of them side by side makes her feel more nervous, somehow – a reminder that they're here for the night, together.

“I don't want to have sex.”

Her head whips around so fast she almost loses her balance and when she looks at Jon, he winces slightly.

“Sorry, that came out... what I mean is, we need to talk.”

She hates the way her stomach drops, the way her heart squeezes painfully inside her chest.

Right.

_Talk_.

He doesn't want to have sex with her and he wants to talk.

She can feel it starting, the buildup of tears behind her eyes and she suddenly, _desperately_ does not want him to see her cry.

“Great,” her voice is hoarse and she hates herself (why can't she control this? She used to be so good at bottling up her emotions). “Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to change first, this dress is really uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah,” she hears him say but she's already turned and grabbed her bag and she heads to the en-suite bathroom.

It's gorgeous, with a large, sunken bathtub in one corner and a massive shower stall in another and she wonders if the rest of the suite is this nice – she hadn't gotten a proper look before Jon...

The tears start then, against her will, forcing themselves out and down her cheeks and she wipes at them furiously. She prepared herself for this, she thinks as she kicks off her heels - she was prepared for the breakup. The talk of _it's not you, it's me_. The _you're so great, but_ -.

She can't quite reach the zipper on her dress and she curses herself, twisting to try and grab it (she will _not_ go out and ask for help. She _can't_ ). Finally, with one last, harsh twist, she manages to catch it and she rips it down and pushes the straps off her shoulders, shoves the rest of it over her hips and kicks it off to the floor. So what if she spent all that time making it, what does it even matter? Let it sit on the floor of this bathroom and get wrinkles and-

Ok, no, she actually worked really hard on this dress - she picks it up off the floor and shakes it out. There's a hanger on the back of the door (thanks production?) and she hangs it carefully and smooths out the fabric, trying to see if she's torn anything in her anger.

When she turns and sees herself in the mirror – sees the lingerie set she'd worn under her dress all night, the one she hoped Jon would like – her tears start again, but she manages to keep from making any noise (she won't let him hear. She _can't_ ). She hates herself for wearing this, hates that she wanted him to see it (and she hates that she wanted him to want her, even if he wasn't going to pick her. She's a terrible person - how would that be fair to Arianne?)

  
  


Her mind rebels at the thought – _did he sleep with Arianne?_ She doesn't think he'd sleep with Margaery, too, Jon isn't like that. She doesn't know how she knows, she just does. He wouldn't sleep with the girls who don't win. (For one horrible moment, the image of him and Arianne flashes through her mind and she shoves it roughly out of her brain.)

  
  


She pulls off the lingerie and moves over to her bag and stuffs the fancy lace deep, _deep_ down. Digging through her bag, she curses herself, because she only brought cute things to wear and she doesn't want Jon to know that she had been _trying_. But it's either the set of silky pajamas she brought or literal nakedness, so...

  
  


Wait!

  
  


Sam had told her to bring something to wear for the shuttle ride home tomorrow, bless him. When he'd told her that, she'd shoved a pair of sweatpants and one of Robb's old t-shirts that she uses for sleeping into her bag without a second thought. _Bless Sam_.

  
  


She pulls the clothes on and when she looks in the mirror, she looks properly casual. Frumpy, even. _See, I don't care if you dump me. I won't try to change your mind with sexy pajamas and lacy lingerie._ Well, she looks casual except for the makeup and hair and so she begins the tedious task of taking all the pins out and the process is so repetitive and painstaking that she eventually stops crying.

  
  


Is she taking too long? How long has she been in here having an emotional meltdown? Probably too long. Jon probably knows something's wrong.

  
  


_So what?_

  
  


If he's going to dump her, she's going to take her time, damnit.

  
  


She finds her makeup kit in her bag and ties her hair back and begins her nightly routine of removing her makeup and washing her face and moisturizing. She takes her time and when she's finally done, she thinks it barely looks like she'd been crying. She packs everything back in her bag slowly, but at some point she understands that she's trying to stall.

  
  


(She could take a shower?)

  
  


No, it's time. She needs to get this over with.

  
  


As she opens the door, she wonders what they'll do to sleep. Will they sleep in the same bed? Will he be a gentleman and insist on sleeping on the floor? Can she just leave halfway through the night? She probably shouldn't, there's probably someone waiting outside the hotel just in case she does something like that (she's sure Cersei would love that footage – her leaving the room a sobbing mess. Wouldn't that make for great TV?)

  
  


Back in the room, she takes a moment to look around and, yes, the suite _is_ just as nice as the bathroom. It's probably the nicest hotel she's ever stayed at, but of course she can't enjoy it. Observing the room only takes so long, and eventually she has to look at Jon. He's sat on the edge of the bed and she sees that he's removed his suit jacket and tie and the buttons near his throat have been undone, as have the ones at his wrists, the cuffs rolled back. When she comes out, he stands up and she can tell he's anxious about this and she suddenly feels terrible for taking so long.

  
  


( _No! He's going to break up with you! You shouldn't feel bad for him!_ )

  
  


(But she does, she realizes. She doesn't want him to hurt, because even though her brain tells her it's a lie, she thinks she loves him.)

  
  


“Ok, what did you want to talk about?”

  
  


He hesitates for the briefest moment and she watches him run a nervous hand through his hair, the other shoved deep into his pocket, like she's seen him do a million times (like she's seen Cersei yell at him for a million times). She hopes she sounded casual, she hopes-

  
  


“I'm going to pick you.”

  
  


He-

  
  


_What?_

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“I'm going to pick you,” he repeats, “at the end.”

  
  


“Oh,” is all she manages to get out because she's losing her words again.

  
  


“If that's ok,” he continues. “I mean, if you want to be Bachelorette, or if you just want me to send you home earlier, I can do that...”

  
  


She watches him, then. Watches him shove his other hand into his pocket and he rocks slightly back on his heels and his eyes never quite land on her and he's... he's _nervous_.

  
  


“No, I want you to pick me.”

  
  


Her voice is low and shaky in the nearly silent room and when she says it, his eyes snap to her face and he hesitates another moment before saying, “yeah?”

  
  


“Yeah. Yes. Pick me.”

  
  


There's a smile, briefly, before his face settles to neutral again. “Ok, um, you'll have to tell me what kind of ring you want? And I guess if you just want the ring, we have to pretend to date for a year? Or we can do whatever you want, just tell me...”

  
  


For a moment she feels off kilter – pretend to date? Does _he_ want to fake date? Why would he want to fake date for a year? _He_ doesn't get the ring. _He_ doesn't need the publicity of it. Why would he pretend to date her for a _year_ if he doesn't get anything out of it? Why would he do that for her? Why would he-

  
  


_Oh_.

  
  


“No,” she says, her voice clear now - steady. She feels more steady than she's felt in a very long time. She speaks slowly, so he hears her, so he _understands_ her, “I want you to pick me. I want it to be for real.”

  
  


There's a moment, a beat, where he stares at her and then his _smile_ (the _real_ one) and he says, “yeah?”

  
  


“ _Yes_ ,” she nearly laughs at the relief in his voice because how did he not _know_? Hasn't she been _so obvious_?

  
  


He moves so fast she barely has time to register it before she's in his arms and his mouth is on hers and she feels a rush of endorphins that leave her dizzy. She throws her arms around his neck to steady herself as his hands bunch in the excess fabric of her t-shirt at her back. His lips press to hers in a series of quick, insistent kisses, but he can't seem to deepen it because he's smiling too much and so is she – she feels giddy and lightheaded and like the only thing tethering her to reality is _Jon_.

  
  


Eventually he gives up trying to kiss her and rests his forehead against hers, his smile making the corner of his eyes crinkle up and she feels like she can really _look_ at him for the first time, take in all the lines and planes of his face, the way one corner of his mouth hitches just slightly higher than the other.

  
  


“Hi,” she breathes, her own smile is giddy and for the first time she doesn't care if she looks stupid - there's no cameras here, only Jon. _Let_ Jon see how happy she is.

  
  


“Hi,” he says back and they stand like that for a while, not talking, just existing in each other's space because they're finally _allowed_ to. He breaks it eventually with, “for real?”

  
  


“I can't believe you doubted it,” she laughs. “Was it because I didn't say I love you?”

  
  


He sighs and pulls back a bit, but his hands remain tangled in her shirt, keeping her pressed against him as his expression changes to something thoughtful.

  
  


“No? Maybe? I _wanted_ to believe you felt the same way I did, but... I mean, I've only ever known you on camera. You could've just been saying and doing all the right things-”

  
  


She cuts him off with an abrupt snort of laughter and he gives her a questioning look. “The right things?” she asks, incredulous. “I was a _mess_. You thought _that_ was me _pretending_?”

  
  


He laughs at that and shrugs, mouth settling into his lopsided smile that she likes very, very much. “I guess right for me, then.”

  
  


It's such a cheesy line, but _gods_ does her heart swoon. She doesn't want to be the girl who swoons at pretty words, but she always has been. But now, she thinks, those words are backed up by all the little things he never said, all the actions, the small gestures that _showed_ her how he was feeling. She wasn't reading it wrong – the kisses, the way he held her hand, keeping his foot against hers under the table. Harry had been so good with words, she'd always let them get the best of her.

  
  


“I knew you weren't like Margaery,” he continues. “Everything she did was perfect.”

  
  


“She wants to be Bachelorette,” she explains and Jon nods and doesn't look surprised.

  
  


“Yeah, we talked about that during her-” he stops himself and a look of what she thinks is panic flits across his face. “I need you to know, I didn't touch either of them. I don't know how they're gonna edit it, but-”

  
  


She cuts him off with a soft kiss and she feels his shoulders relax under her arms, which are still wound around his neck. “I didn't think you did,” she tells him. “Well, actually, when I thought you were breaking up with me, I considered you had with Arianne...”

  
  


She's not sure why she tells him this, but there's something in her that wants to be _honest_ with him. They've been dancing around reality now for almost two months, speaking in riddles and half truths and perfectly crafted phrases suggested by production – tonight they need to be honest with each other or this will _never_ work.

  
  


(She knows the odds. She's been watching the show for nearly a decade now, watched nearly a decade's worth of Bachelors get engaged at the end, and only one is still with their winner. A few of them from before her time are still married, but its not an encouraging statistic.)

  
  


“Arianne's nice,” Jon winces and she feels bad for him – how strange it must be to talk about the other girls he is _still_ technically dating to the one he's... for real dating? She doesn't even know how to quantify what they are right now.

  
  


“Arianne _is_ nice,” she agrees, hoping he'll take it as the peace offering she intends it to be. “Does she know?”

  
  


“Yeah, I told both of them. Margaery wasn't surprised. Arianne...”

  
  


Sansa doesn't know what to feel – there's a part of her that feels light and free and happier than she's ever been, but there's another part of her that aches for Arianne. She knows how horrible she felt in the brief time she was sure Jon was breaking up with her. She doesn't know exactly how Arianne feels – if she's in just as deep as Sansa is or not – but it must have hurt. And she can tell, from the look on Jon's face that he hated hurting her, that he never wanted to. She could tell him it's not his fault, that the show is _designed_ for this, but she doesn't think it would help.

  
  


Instead she kisses him again, slow and soft because there's no rush. He keeps pace with her for a while, but soon it turns harder and her mouth opens under his and she lets herself get swept up in him – in the press of his lips and the slide of his tongue and how solid he is against her and the feeling of falling, of drowning, while knowing she's in no danger at all.

  
  


His hands pull her shirt up, fighting against all the excess fabric and he lets out an annoyed groan, which makes her laugh against his lips. Eventually he finds the end of the shirt and he slips his hands beneath it, palms hot against the small of her back, calloused fingers pressing her more insistently against him. Then his hands slide down to the backs of her thighs and she feels him start to lift her up and she wraps her legs around his waist like she's been wanting to for _ages_. She doesn't care about being _that girl_. Not here, not when it's just them.

  
  


He hoists her higher on his waist and turns to walk over to the bed and soon she's flat on her back on the mattress as he leans over her, mouth trailing along her jaw, to the spot below her ear that he somehow finds like magic that makes her shiver and gasp. She tugs at the buttons of his shirt, but before she can get too many undone, he pulls back with a groan.

  
  


“I meant what I said earlier,” he pants, “I don't want to have sex tonight.”

  
  


Her head is clouded with adrenaline and desire and it takes a few moments for his words to register and then confusion is added to the mix and all she can say is “oh, ok.”

  
  


“It's not that I don't...” he doesn't finish his sentence as his eyes drop to her lips, her neck, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, down to where her legs are still wrapped around his waist and she watches him lick his lips and she feels another shiver course down her spine.

  
  


“Jon?” she prompts and his eyes snap back to her face. She regrets it, because he pulls even further back, her legs falling from around him and she sits up as he moves to the side and sits on the edge of the bed next to her.

  
  


“Look, I told you I only ever had one girlfriend, right?” She nods and he continues on hesitantly. “Well, I've only ever slept with her. Sex is... I want it to mean something? And it's... if it were just us, I'd have no problem, but it's _not_ just us. I know there's no cameras here now, but we're still on this show and we're still on their time and...” he trails off and looks up at her, pleading.

  
  


“I get it,” she says, because she _does_.

  
  


“They already own so much of us,” he sighs, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. “I don't want them to have everything.” He hesitates for a moment, giving her a small, deprecating smile as he says, “I know I probably sound stupid.”

  
  


“You don't sound stupid,” she whispers, sitting up fully and curling her legs up under her. “I think that's why... they wanted me to say I loved you at the hometown.” He nods and she was right – he _had_ been expecting her to say it. “But I think that's why I couldn't. Because I didn't... because it would be _theirs_ , then. I almost did because I didn't want to get sent home, but in the end I couldn't.”  
  
  


“No, I'm glad you didn't,” he shakes his head, brows furrowing together. “I think... I think part of me wanted it? I was so confused and I thought maybe if you said it, I'd be able to tell how you really felt? But I'm glad you didn't.”

  
  


“Me too,” she agrees and a weight she hadn't even realized was there lifts. “Ok, so sex after the show? Once we're back in real life?”

  
  


“I'd be surprised if I don't pull you into an airport bathroom,” he says with such sincerity that it shocks a laugh out of her and she feels her heart skip more than one beat.

  
  


“And that's more romantic how?” she asks, trying to feign insult, but she's not sure it works because she's definitely still smiling. He shrugs, lopsided smile back on his face for a few moments before it drops slightly.

  
  


“It doesn't bother you that I've only ever been with one person, right?”

  
  


The question comes out of nowhere and for a moment she doesn't know how to respond. “Why would it bother me? Does it bother you that I've been with more than that?”

  
  


“No,” he shakes his head and the little furrow between his brow is back. “I shouldn't have asked,” he runs a hand through his hair like he's frustrated with himself. “I guess I just... some of the guys on the team used to-” he cuts himself off with a shrug. “Ygritte and I broke up a few times over the years. Never for long, I always knew we'd just get back together, but the guys didn't understand why I didn't use that as an excuse to sleep with other people.”

  
  


“Do I have to yell at Tormund?” she asks, putting on a frown and it has the intended effect of making him laugh.

  
  


“Shockingly, Tormund was never the problem.”

  
  


“Good, I'd hate to have to ruin our friendship,” she nods and he raises an eyebrow at her.

“Didn't know you guys were such good friends.”

  
  


“We bonded, you saw.”

  
  


“I'd be worried, but you actually aren't his type,” Jon grins and Sansa's about to say something indignant like _I'm everyone's type_ , but he continues. “He was _really_ into Brienne.”

  
  


“What?” she gasps, eyes going wide as a grin stretches across her face.

  
  


“Oh, yeah,” he grins back at her. “Brienne was _not_ happy.”

  
  


“I can't believe I missed that,” she laments, trying to picture Tormund hitting on silent, stoic Brienne. He probably waggled his eyebrows or wolf whistled or some other ridiculous thing.

  
  


When she comes out of her thoughts, she looks over to find Jon's face serious again and she feels a low throb of panic. Before she can ask what's wrong, he says, “Sans, if we're gonna do this for real, there's some stuff you need to know.”

  
  


She can feel a trickle of something like dread in the pit of her stomach and she tries to figure out what he could possible need to tell her that would be so horrible – and then it hits her.

  
  


“Why you're here?” she guesses and he nods.

  
  


“Do you want the short version or the long one?” he tries to joke, but there's no real humor in it.

  
  


“We've got all night.”

  
  


“Ok, long version,” he sighs, readjusting to sit more fully on the bed, facing her with his back against the headboard. “I told you my mom was a single mom, yeah? She and my dad were never married. Actually, she was sixteen and he was thirty one. She was on vacation in Dorne...”

  
  


Sansa resists the urge to interject in horror, keeping her jaw closed tight to not interrupt him.

  
  


“He already had a wife. Rhae was three and Elia was pregnant with Aegon and when mom got pregnant, all he did was throw money at her to have an abortion. She didn't, obviously. Dad tried to give her money over the years, I think to try and keep her quiet or something, but mom was stubborn and she wouldn't take it unless we were really desperate. Elia found out anyway and she – I don't blame her for not leaving him. She had two young kids and... I don't blame her.”

  
  


“She was kind to you,” Sansa says softly when Jon is silent for a while and he nods.

  
  


“I promise this all means something,” he says, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I just... I want you to understand what he's like.”

  
  


“We have all night,” she reminds him and leans over to take his hands away from his face and she holds them as he continues.

  
  


“He's an investment banker. Big stuff – high end clients. Owns his own hedge fund company. To be honest, I never paid that much attention to what he did, but going to his house every summer was always surreal because it was so different from mom's, you know? He was... he's everything you'd expect from one of those finance guys. But Elia and Rhae and Aegon were different. They were kind to me when I visited – dad would either pretend I didn't exist or try to buy my love, whatever he felt like that day. Elia was the only reason I got to know Rhae and Egg in the first place and when she died it – well, they changed. They both went to work for dad and Egg tried to be exactly like him and Rhae... all she wanted to do was keep the family together.”

  
  


“You mentioned you were close,” Sansa squeezes his hands in encouragement when he seems to run out of words. She thinks he normally doesn't talk this much, she's seen it every time he speaks about himself – it's like he's forcing the words out when all he wants to do is keep silent.

  
  


He nods. “Rhae and I were always the closest, she's the only one I keep in touch with these days. But after Elia, she kept trying to have me give dad a second chance. But I already did – when I was a kid, when I was a teenager. I gave him so many chances and he just disappointed me every time. So a few years back, I told Rhae I was done and she accepted it. Until a few months ago.”

  
  


“The show?”

  
  


“I told you my dad works in finance, and he deals with a lot of high end clients.”

  
  


“The Lannister Group,” she guesses in a whisper and he nods. _The Lannister reach_ , she remembers Myranda saying. “They used your dad to convince you to do it?”

  
  


“They used his debts,” he laughs, but it's a small, bitter thing. “I guess he made some bad investments somewhere along the way and now he's in trouble with some very powerful people.”

  
  


“But... the Bachelor?” she can hear the incredulity in her own voice.

  
  


“Apparently the show's had a few rough seasons. I remember they explained it to me but I'll be honest, I didn't care enough to listen. Something about some scandals and lower ratings and advertisers pulling out...”

  
  


Sansa nods and remembers back to the last few seasons – the news breaking that Jaime Lannister was having sex with contestants nearly half his age, their soon-to-be-Bachelor's online grooming scandal where they had to scramble for a replacement last minute. She remembers how boring the recent seasons had been, the waning enthusiasm for the series online, the grumblings of how the series had gone past it's prime.

  
  


“To save the show, they wanted a Bachelor who would bring in a different audience, someone already known outside the franchise. Bring in different advertisers, too. From the way they talked, this show is big business. I guess the ratings and ad revenue from me being the Bachelor would even out whatever it is my dad owes.”

  
  


“You don't know? You said yes without even asking what he owed?”

  
  


Jon laughs again, softly, less bitter this time. “I said no, actually. Told them my dad could rot in jail for all I cared. Whatever insider trading or shady deals he'd struck – that's on him.”

  
  


“So how...” she starts and he meets her eyes and she can see a sadness in them and something clicks. “Rhae?”

  
  


He nods. “She showed up at my house, begging me to help dad. Begging me to keep the family together – nevermind that dad never really wanted me in the family to begin with. She reminded me that she works for dad, that Egg does - I don't know if they'd get in trouble, but you never know, right? So I said yes, for her. And now I'm here. You sure you still want to get involved with me?”

  
  


“Oh, Jon,” she lets go of his hands to crawl over next to him and she sits beside him and curls into him as best she can. “Why would that change anything?”

  
  


“Because my family's a mess? Because I have a money laundering dad and-”

  
  


“Money laundering? I thought you said insider trading?”

  
  


“Oh, I'm just guessing,” he shrugs and she sits up a bit to look him in the face. “I really didn't care to ask. I don't want to know what he did, I don't want to know how much he owes. All I know is that I do this show and it wipes out his debt, the end. I told Rhae that after this, I'm done. With him. Maybe even with her.” He swallows visibly and leans back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. “She knew what this show would do to me. She knows what I'm like, but she asked me to do it anyway. I don't know if I can forgive her for that.”

  
  


Sansa leans back down to rest her head on his shoulder because she doesn't know what to say. She can't imagine what it must be like to have his family dynamic and she feels a sharp, sudden ache to see hers again. All the times when she was younger where she wished for a different family, it seems so utterly ridiculous now. No matter the fights with Arya or how stupid Robb could be or how annoying Bran and Rickon could be, she can't imagine ever losing them, ever cutting them out of her life.

  
  


“You mentioned you were close to Aegon? Before he changed?” Jon nods and she can feel him look down at her, but she doesn't look up. “Do you think, if he came to you and apologized and wanted to be close again, do you think you could forgive him?”

  
  


Jon takes a while to answer, but finally she feels him nod and hears a hoarse, “yeah.”

  
  


“Then I think you could forgive Rhae, too, eventually.”

  
  


He doesn't say anything to that, but she feels his arm around her waist tighten ever so slightly and his head tips down further and his lips press into the crown of her head.

  
  


They sit like that for a long while, leaning back against the headboard, her curled into his side. Eventually, though, he looks at the clock on the nightstand and groans. She looks over and is shocked to see it's after midnight.

  
  


“I need to get out of this suit,” he grimaces and she disentangles herself from him as he gets up and heads off to the bathroom. She flops down on her back on the bed and smiles up at the ceiling, a lightness to her heart that she hasn't felt in _ages_. Since before the show, before the Eyrie, maybe even before King's Landing.

  
  


When he comes back out, he's in a simple white t-shirt and grey sweatpants that he somehow makes look absolutely _indecent_. To her surprise, he's also wearing glasses and it does things to her that she wasn't expecting. Does she have a professor thing? Or just a Jon-in-glasses thing? (Something to ponder later.)

  
  


He catches her staring and gives her a sheepish grin, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I'm blind without contacts,” he tells her as she moves over and he settles into bed next to her.

  
  


It's strange, she thinks, to be sleeping in the same bed as someone. She hasn't done it since Harry and she wonders how she'll do – with Harry, by the end, she barely wanted him near her and slept terribly if he was home (by the end, he barely was).

  
  


Laying here with Jon in the dark of the hotel room, it feels intensely familiar and foreign all at once. He turns on his side to face her and she does the same and she says, “tell me something about you.”

  
  


“Like what?” he says back, voice low to match hers.

  
  


“Like anything. Like everything.”

  
  


And so they talk – about their childhoods, about the small, insignificant things. She finds out his favorite color is black and she tells him hers is blue. They talk about bigger things, about religion and politics (she's relieved to find he has just as much spite for Roose Bolton as she does. She thinks she's somehow _more_ attracted to Jon when she hears the venom in his voice talking about Bolton's sudden rise in popularity with some factions in the North).

  
  


“You said before that you and Ygritte wanted different things out of life,” she says at one point. “One of you wanted marriage and kids and the other didn't. Which one were you?”

  
  


He gives her a lazy smile – by this point they're both fighting sleep. She can feel it tugging at her, trying to close her eyes, making her yawn, but she pushes back against it, refuses to give up her time with him. “I wanted marriage and kids,” his voice is rough and low, just as tired as she is.

  
  


“How many kids do you want?”

  
  


“Two, I think,” he murmurs, eyes closing and staying closed for slightly too long before he forces them open again. “You?” His hand rests on her hip, thumb rubbing small circles against the skin just above the elastic of her sweatpants.  
  
  


“Five, definitely,” she whispers and grins when he laughs.

  
  


“Absolutely not,” he smiles. “Three at most.”

  
  


“Sure, three,” she agrees and he narrows his eyes at her.

  
  


“Why do I feel like I didn't win this?”

  
  


She doesn't answer, instead leaning forward across the small space between them and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

  
  


“This wasn't how I expected it, though,” he says, voice low and thick with sleep and for a moment she wonders if he realizes he said it.

  
  


“Me either,” she agrees and pushes back against the lump in her throat. She wanted full honesty tonight but it's only now, with exhaustion clouding her brain, that she tells him her fears – that none of this is real, that everything she's feeling is a lie.

  
  


She isn't sure if she's comforted or not when he agrees and they talk into the early morning about what's expected of them – the ring, the proposal, the rest of the show, keeping it a secret for months after, how their families will react.

  
  


At some point she slips into sleep without noticing.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The alarm blares through the room and jolts her awake. An arm tightens around her waist and she hears Jon groan in disapproval, feels him bury his face against the back of her neck.

  
  


“Who set an alarm?” she whimpers as she squeezes her eyes shut against the light slipping through the curtains. She knows the answer, though – production.

  
  


Sure enough, a knock sounds at the door just moments later and they hear Brienne call through that they have a half hour to get up and get camera ready.

  
  


Jon's arm doesn't leave her waist and instead he pulls her back harder against him and she feels him press a kiss to her shoulder and he says, “don't want to leave.”

  
  


Neither does she – now that she's awake, now that she realizes she only has a half hour left with him, she feels a sort of desperation hit her. She wants to get up and barricade the door, refuse to come out, but she knows it's pointless. Instead, she tries to make her voice light as she jokes, “yeah, I can feel,” and cants her hips back into him, finally acknowledging his morning stiffness.

  
  


He groans again and bites lightly at her shoulder and his fingers pinch at her waist – not hard, just enough to make her give an embarrassing squeak. “Evil,” he mutters and kisses the spot on her shoulder again.

  
  


“You're the one who made the no sex rule,” she tells him, conveniently ignoring that she had agreed with it.

  
  


“I'm an idiot,” he sighs and finally rolls away from her, and she turns around to face him.

  
  


Getting out of that bed is possibly the hardest thing she's ever had to do (she's _not_ dramatic, no matter what anyone says), but she finally does. Jon goes to the bathroom first, grumbling something about a cold shower, and she decides to settle on simply getting her hair in order and some makeup on before the cameras get here.

  
  


It's strangely domestic, washing her face and getting ready while Jon's in the shower. Does she want to jump in the shower with him? Yes, absolutely. But she does actually agree with him – that she wants their first time to be _theirs_. (And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she realizes he's the first person to ever put their relationship before sex. It's the first time she hasn't used sex as a way to try and make herself feel more secure, exchanging it for a sense of validation and love that were never real to begin with.)

  
  


Too soon, they're dressed and production comes in with breakfast set up on trays and she puts her foot down when they want to film them eating in bed (if only so that it makes Cersei's job just _slightly_ harder when they try to edit this to convince the audience she and Jon slept together). Instead, they're filmed on the balcony with the sunrise in the background and she tries to ignore the camera as she eats the fruit and coffee set out before her (she hopes Sam is waiting in the shuttle with _real_ food after this).

  
  


Production takes her bag and she's surprised to learn that she'll be leaving first – isn't it usually the lead who leaves the contestant in the hotel room? She's sure that's how it goes. But no, production wants to film her leaving and she also finds that strange – that they're filming her walking down the steps of the hotel and they lead her to a courtyard, all the while filming her.

  
  


It's... she doesn't think she's ever seen a contestant leave the fantasy suites like this and she begins to feel a sense of dread when she realizes she can't see Sam anywhere. At first she assumed he was waiting in the shuttle, but... She looks up at Cersei, who only gives her a saccharine smile that does _nothing_ to quell the rising fear that's building in the pit of her stomach.

  
  


_Sam_ , she panics, looking around. “Where's Sam?”

  
  


Loras ignores her and pushes her through the courtyard of the hotel, into a sort of garden space and the minute she's through the hedged entrance, she understands.

  
  


Her whole body seems to go numb and she feels slightly dizzy and her vision narrows on Harry as he turns around and gives her one of his familiar, megawatt smiles and says, “hey, dove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I struggle to write this for a full week? Yes. Did I wake up at 3am this morning and type out a solid portion of this in some sort of half-awake daze? Also yes.
> 
> (writing dialogue exhausts me, I don't know why I struggle with it so much).
> 
> I also realized that I didn't have any Bach facts researched, so instead, we're going to talk about fantasy suites (hopefully short and sweet cause this chapter is long enough already).
> 
> Yes, most Bachelors/Bachelorettes do have sex in the fantasy suites and yes, often with more than one person in the same week. Some don't – Sean Lowe and Emily Maynard both have said they didn't, while Ali Fedotowsky admitted she only slept with one of the final three. There could be more, but most leads don't actually say who they did and did not have sex with and production usually puts in some sort of editing to make it look like they might have, whether it's true or not. Some editing is more subtle, some is over the top ridiculous (I'm looking at you, Raven's morning after skip through town).
> 
> But mostly the overnight dates are used to talk because it really is the only time to truly get to know the person. Andi Dorfman allegedly found out what an absolute ass Juan Pablo was during the fantasy suite date, and she left the competition the next morning.
> 
> That's really all I have, sorry! Its 6am now and I've been typing for about three hours and I'm very tired. Hopefully I read this back again and make sure it's not an incoherent mess?
> 
> (hi, noon me here. still haven't been able to sleep. posting this anyway)


	10. Week 10

_No no no no no no no no_

She shuts her eyes tight and reopens them and – nope, Harry's still there. Still standing in the little garden of the hotel with a bouquet of flowers in hand and his most winning smile on his face.

(That smile – that's what got her, she thinks. When she'd first gone to the Vale, terrified of her own apartment and feeling lost in her new internship, with none of her family or friends around her, it was that smile in the candy aisle of the grocery store where she had been debating which giant bag of chocolate to get to drown her sorrows in. She'd never been hit on in a grocery store before – she'd never been hit on so aggressively _anywhere_ before – and it had been flattering and overwhelming and she'd given him her number right away. But wasn't that everything with Harry? Flattering and overwhelming and ultimately a disappointment.)

She's aware that she's staring at him, that her mouth is hanging open and she can see his lips moving and- is he talking? Her ears are ringing and her head feels cloudy with... confusion? Fear? Anger?

(All three, probably.)

“What are you-” she chokes out before her throat closes up and she sways on the spot, feeling dizzy. Yesterday had been so _long_. She'd spent hours and hours on edge, tense and ready for Jon to break up with her – and then the _relief_ , the relief and the overwhelming happiness; talking into the early morning, an hour or two of sleep at most after nearly twenty four awake.

She's _tired_.

“...knew I had to come and stop you from making a huge mistake...” his words drift in and out, the static in her brain clearing for small moments at a time, just enough to hear bits of his speech. Something about letting her go, something about the biggest regret of his life, something about love.

Love.

How many times had he told her he loved her? Too many to count.

_(I love you, baby, how could you accuse me of cheating?)_

_(I love you, dove, you know that, I just can't handle your family today.)_

_(I love you, but right now you sound crazy.)_

_(Aren't you being a little dramatic?)_

_(You're being childish.)_

_(I know you're just crying to make me feel guilty.)_

“...if I could go back, I would, I'd never let you walk out that door.”

_Gods_ he looks so sincere. He _sells_ it, he always has. No wonder he's such a great insurance salesman, she thinks, and something about that strikes some deliriously tired part of her brain and suddenly she's _laughing_.

Harry stops mid-sentence and his brows draw together in confusion at the first snort of her laughter and the _look on his face_ sends her into even greater fits. She slaps one hand over her mouth, but it doesn't stop – she laughs until tears roll down her face and she's bent slightly over against the cramping of her stomach muscles and she understands that nothing about this is _funny_ , but she's so _tired_.

She's tired of everything.

The cameras. Production. The never ending battle to stay sane on this godsforsaken show. The constant flux of her emotions from one extreme to the other.

“Dove, what...” Harry's voice sounds _off_ and she thinks she's never actually heard him sound uncertain before.

She takes a deep breath and stands up straight, rubbing at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“You didn't let me walk out,” is the first thing she says, trying to even out her breathing. “I left while you were at work.”

“Well,” he squares his shoulders and she watches his face smooth out and she knows it's coming – some line, some grand speech. She wonders what it would be – _I should have come after you._ Something like that.

“I had to,” she interrupts and her throat is suddenly dry and all of her laughter is gone. “I had to, because I couldn't risk you being there. I couldn't risk you talking me out of it. I couldn't risk you _somehow_ making me feel like everything was my fault. How did you always do that? Make me feel like _you_ cheating was my fault?”

“Baby, I would never-” he has his concerned face on, the one that usually preempted some line about how emotional she was.

“Gods,” she whispers to herself and she turns away because she can't _look_ at him. When she turns, she sees production, sees Cersei waiting behind the camera with a calm, satisfied look to her face.

The rage that had been slowly simmering deep in her stomach builds, she can feel it filling every part of her, white hot. It makes her vision narrow and her hands shake. She feels like she's about to vibrate into another dimension with how hard she's shaking, but at this point she'd almost welcome it, because then she wouldn't be _here_.

How long has Harry been here? How long have they been practicing his speech? Did production call him or did he call them? It's not like production doesn't _know_ about him – she fucking talked about his cheating on her date with Jon! They absolutely know!

“I can't believe you,” she spits, and she can't tell if it's at Cersei or Harry. She wants to storm over to production, rip the cameras out of their hands, smash them against the ground, claw Cersei's face off. She wants to turn around and march over to Harry, punch him in his stupidly too-white teeth. She wants to _scream_. She knows, deep down, that she won't get very far if she comes after production, so she turns on Harry. “I can't believe you would come here and think for a _minute_ I'd take you back. I spent _two years_ with you _constantly_ making me feel like shit. You would tell me how stupid I was or how annoying my family was. You'd talk about my weight – do you remember that time you told your boss I wasn't having dessert because I'd put on a few pounds? At a _business dinner_ , in front of your coworkers! And then when I wanted to leave, you made me feel crazy for being upset!”

She can feel it – the tears stinging her eyes, her voice rising in octave. _Hysterical_. Her hands are useless, shaking so hard she can barely curl them into fists to hide it.

“You're being overdramatic,” he says, voice _dripping_ with false concern.

Then his eyes dart over to the cameras for the first time before he looks back at her and she feels her anger flare, hot and wild.

“I'm not being overdramatic!” she almost screeches, voice high and tight – too loud. _Too loud_ , part of her brain tries to keep her quiet, but she ignores it. “I'm being the perfect amount of dramatic! You followed me here! It's been almost a year since we broke up and _now_ you've decided you want me back? No. Either you can't stand the idea of me moving on or you wanted to be on TV, and I honestly can't decide which is more pathetic.”

And suddenly her anger is gone, like a popped balloon - she can feel it rush out of her, leaving her empty.

_Tired_.

“Go home, Harry,” she sighs, bringing her still shaking hands up to rub at her aching eyes. She has cried too much in the past week. She just wants to _sleep_.

( _I want Jon_ , she thinks with a jolt and realizes it's true – she wants to go back upstairs and get back into bed and curl up next to him. She wants to feel his arm around her waist and his breath stirring the hairs at the back of her neck. She wants his calm eyes and his lopsided smile and his sincerity.)

She doesn't wait for Harry to respond, she just turns and walks back the way she came, towards the hedged opening to the garden, ignoring his protests that sound weak and pathetic behind her.

There are a million ways she could have hurt him worse, she knows. She had been with him for two years and even picture-perfect Harry showed his cracks. She could have told the world about his obsession with his mother, constantly at her beck and call. She could have told them about how completely disappointing he was in bed, all that talk with nothing to back it up. Seven hells, she could have told them about all the times he'd taken his coworker's clients out for drinks and smooth talked them into his own pocket.

Why didn't she?

She could have. She _should_ have.

( _Arya would have punched him_.)

But, she thinks as she reaches the garden exit, _who cares_?

Not her.

It's a sudden and overwhelming knowledge – she doesn't _care_.

Fuck Harry. Fuck the Vale. Fuck Baelish, too, while she's at it.

Harry is _nothing._ He _means_ nothing.

It makes her feel strangely light to realize that he holds no power over her anymore.

He's _nothing_.

“Doesn't that feel better?” Cersie's cool voice breaks her thoughts when she's finally out of the garden.

For a moment, Sansa doesn't know how to respond and all she can say is, “better?”

“To tell him off,” there's a slight quirk to Cersei's lips, like she's pleased with the outcome and Sansa realizes that it didn't matter what the outcome actually _was –_ not to Cersei. It didn't matter if Sansa rejected Harry or ran into his arms, so long as Cersei got some sort of drama out of it. “Doesn't it feel better?”

“Do not,” Sansa hisses, feeling anger rush back through her, “do _not_ pretend like bringing him here was some sort of female solidarity bullshit favor. I hope you got your footage.”

As she moves to storm off, she thinks she hears Cersei mutter _almost_ , and she barely has time to ponder what that means when she turns around another hedge to find Jon standing with Brienne, Sam, Loras, and a camera and her stomach _drops_.

_Of course_.

How much of that did Jon hear?

All of it, from the look on his face.

A brief glance at Sam and she sees the misery in his expression. Brienne's jaw is clenched tight, Sansa can't tell at all what she's thinking, how she feels about all of this. Loras looks bored, as usual.

She's so angry at all of them – angry and so _tired_. Any calm she felt after leaving Harry is gone and she's in another overwhelming swirl of fear and rage and it's _too much_.

“You ok?”

Jon's voice is calm and even, but when she looks up at him, she can see how tense he is – the set to his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, eyes sharp and staring behind her.

“Yes?” her answer comes out unsure because she _is_ unsure (she thinks she's gone through every human emotion possible in the last twenty four hours and there isn't much room left for introspection).

Jon's eyes move from whatever he was glaring at behind her (Cersei, very likely) and when he finally looks at her, she watches him relax a bit, tensed muscles softening and then he steps forward and wraps his arms around her and she buries her face into his neck.

“You heard all of that?” she asks into his skin and she can feel him swallow and nod and something like shame creeps up in her chest and she wonders what he thinks of her.

(How could she stay with Harry for _two years_? How could she let herself be treated like that? It's everything she's been asking herself since she left the Vale. Some days are worse than others and some days she could believe the self-help books that told her it wasn't her fault.)

“I was gonna come see if you needed help, but it sounded like you were doing just fine on your own,” his voice rumbles from deep in his chest, she thinks she can _feel_ the words vibrating into her.

“They would've let you?” she asks because she can't bring herself to hope that he truly meant that.

“You should've seen Loras trying to force him out there,” Sam's voice is soft next to them and she pulls back slightly from Jon to look at him. When she does, she's almost taken aback by the grimly satisfied smile on Sam's face. “Cersei really wanted a whole confrontation, but Jon said you could handle yourself.”

She doesn't know what to say to that, so instead she buries her face back into Jon's shoulder and she can hear them wrapping production behind her, can hear Harry's raised voice in the background and Cersei's sharp one in response.

Sansa keeps her eyes shut and focuses on Jon's steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, Sam's warm hand that comes up to pat her gently on the shoulder, and then Jon's words whispered into the top of her head, “just a little bit more. Just two more weeks, can you do that?”

“Less than two weeks,” Sam corrects softly.

Less than two weeks. Can she do that?

“Yeah.”

* * *

She _sleeps_.

Sam had been sent to fetch her breakfast, he tells her with shame in the shuttle on the way back. He didn't know about Harry and by the time he got back, she was already yelling and Loras was mid-trying to convince Jon to go out. Sansa shoos away his apologies as she shoves the breakfast he had gotten into her mouth, ravenous after the stress of the past day. And then, back in her own hotel room, full to bursting and completely drained, she sleeps.

* * *

At the rose ceremony, they place her and Arianne next to each other and Sansa can't bring herself to look at the woman standing beside her.

She feels horrid. She did nothing wrong, but that knowledge doesn't help. None of them did a single thing wrong and yet she feels like a monster. She wonders if Jon feels worse.

  
(Arianne had cried, he'd told her that night, with a pained look on his face. Arianne had cried and then apologized for crying and told him she understood, but Sansa could tell from the way Jon spoke that it had only made him feel worse.)

When Jon comes in, he's solemn. They all are, even Margaery, though Sansa wonders if hers is an act. Renly goes through his spiel and when he's done, Jon's hand hovers over the two roses on the podium. And then-

“Arianne,” he says, taking his hand away from the roses. “Can we talk?”

Next to her, Sansa hears Arianne take a sharp breath and steel herself for what's coming. Sansa wants to stop her before she goes and... and what? Beg for forgiveness? What is there to forgive? None of them did anything wrong except come on this _awful_ show. There's nothing she can say to make it any better, so she doesn't say anything at all.

But just before she goes, Arianne hesitates a brief moment and then Sansa feels a hand in hers and she looks down to see Arianne give her hand a single squeeze. Then she lets go and walks out of the room with Jon.

Margaery lets out an exaggerated breath and turns her head slightly and whispers, “congratulations, by the way.”

A strange bubble of laughter erupts out of Sansa's throat and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. The cameras are on them, though she's sure they would never air anything that would give away the ending.

“Congratulations back,” she says, keeping her voice low. They're mic'd, so their whispering won't go unheard, but somehow talking at full volume seems disrespectful. She doesn't know how far Jon and Arianne went for the breakup, but the last thing she would ever want is for Arianne to overhear her and Margaery talking.

“Nothing's set in stone yet,” Margaery sighs. “Arianne would make a _great_ Bachelorette.”

Sansa doesn't agree out loud (though she does agree. She thinks they were blessed this season with an extraordinary set of girls, though there's a part of her that wonders if _every_ season has great contestants, but the editing makes them look worse than they are).

“Oh, I told Jon not to let you get all the way through your speech before dumping you,” Sansa whispers. “I told him to cut you off.” It's one of the things she hates the most at the end of the show – the girl who doesn't win (and you always know, because she's first up – they save the winner for last) makes a big speech and confesses her love for the Bachelor. And the Bachelor _always_ lets her get through it before turning her down. It's horrible and Sansa usually has to leave the room when it happens (her friends and Jeyne never let her mute it).

“What?” Margaery gasps, finally turning to look at her, eyes wide. “He better not! I have been planning this speech for _weeks_. Oh, I'm gonna be _so heartbroken_. The _tears_ , Sansa! If that doesn't win me Bachelorette...”

Sansa can do nothing but stare before letting out a breathy laugh and shaking her head - what a different experience she and Margaery have been having. She wonders what it must be like.

When Jon comes back in, he looks pale and tired. They make him give a speech about sending Arianne home and Sansa can hear how monotone his voice is. After hours and hours of talking to him for real, she can hear the difference between real Jon and show Jon – can hear how it's been there the whole time (except, she thinks, on the rare occasions on their dates when he would open up, but maybe that's just her imagination).

He calls Margaery first, then Sansa. Another sham of a rose ceremony, but she doesn't _care_.

Less than two weeks.

* * *

“Absolutely not,” she says as she carefully applies her mascara. “Sam is my producer.”

“ _Sam_ has never had a girl get this far,” Loras drawls as he leans against the bathroom door frame. “Cersei thought it would be more helpful if-”

“ _Sam_ is my producer,” she says, capping her mascara and finally turning to face him. “So either you bring Sam here, or I don't leave this hotel room.”

“That's breach of contract.”

“Fine, then I'll come out of the hotel room and tell Jon I'm leaving the show. That's well within my rights. And then you'll have a boring finale where Jon picks Margaery because she's the only contestant left.” She turns back to the mirror and begins to apply her lipstick.

She hears Loras let out an annoyed huff and he leaves the room and she hears him mutter, “when did you grow a spine?”

_I've always had one,_ she thinks.

* * *

“I'm so nervous,” she whispers, gripping Jon's hand so tight she thinks she might be hurting him.

They make their way up to the beachside cabin located outside of White Harbor proper. It's a rich area, one of the wealthiest in the North, where production has rented a cabin for this. They're just walking up the little path to the front door when it opens and a white bundle of fur bounds out and she feels Jon let go of her hand with a grunted curse as the mass slams into him. Jon takes the brunt of the force well, but it throws him off balance and he eventually falls, slowly and ungracefully, to the ground.

“Ghost,” she hears Jon's voice from beneath the excited mound of dog on top of him, “fucking hell, Ghost, _down_. Sit!”

There's a moment of confusion, but then Ghost does sit, looking for all the world like it's a torture and Jon sighs and sits up and begins to scratch at Ghost's neck (Ghost seems to like this very much, if the tail slamming against the ground in delight is any indication).

“Missed you, too, buddy,” Jon murmurs and she doesn't think she's meant to hear it, but she does and it makes her dumb little heart melt.

It's only then that she looks up and sees two figures at the doorway and her nerves come back. The woman is the exact image of Jon – the dark hair, grey eyes. She's _short_ , though, and it reminds Sansa of Arya for some reason. The man is... for a moment she panics, her nerves making her mind blank on the name, but then Jon's mom speaks and she's saved.

“Arthur, I told you to hold on to him,” Lyanna Snow scolds, though Sansa thinks she's holding in a laugh.

“You told me no such thing,” Arthur says back dryly and then lets out a sharp whistle. Ghost perks up and half turns, hesitating, like he knows he's supposed to come at the whistle but doesn't want to leave Jon.

“I've done a terrible job training him,” Jon groans as he gets up, dusting himself off.

“He seems like a good boy to me,” Sansa says and she can't help that she slips into her animal voice. At the tone, Ghost perks up and turns to look at her. And then he ignores Arthur and Jon completely and gets out of his sit to come over to her. “Hi Ghost,” she holds out her hand for him to sniff and soon she's got a giant husky twining around her legs and getting little white hairs all over her dress.

_Should've worn a lighter color_ , she thinks, but she doesn't really mind.

What she does mind is that they have to break for a few PAs to come over with lint rollers and clean her and Jon up while Arthur holds Ghost back from interrupting.

When they're finally inside and introductions are complete, they sit on two couches and the only thing keeping her anxiety from boiling over is the fact that Jon's got a good grip on her hand. Jon knows what this must feel like, he'd had to meet _her_ family. And at least Jon's got no siblings to run around causing chaos, though she honestly thinks she wouldn't mind the distraction. Because now that Lyanna is done cooing over Jon (he'd been embarrassed by the display, trying to duck away from her hands as she fussed over his too long hair with a _“ma, stop”_ ), Sansa is the focus of Lyanna's attention and it's making her _nervous_. Jon is Lyanna's only son and she clearly adores him – and does she know? Does she know why he's doing this? She must.

Luckily, Jon seems more himself with his mom around, and he's relaxed enough to ease the conversation along. Sansa is also grateful to Arthur, who seems just as willing to help this go smoothly for everyone (she can see him rubbing Lyanna's back and she can tell it's to help soothe her obvious distaste for this whole thing).

Soon enough, they're all laughing over the story of how Lyanna and Arthur got together – how Arthur had been a referee when Jon was in college, how Lyanna had gone up to yell at him after what she had decided was a terrible call and a resulting penalty against her son. How she'd nearly been dragged out of the game by security (Lyanna shrugs like it's no big deal and Jon's head is in his hands, the tips of his ears bright red as he seems to relive the moment). How afterwards, Arthur had sought her out to apologize (when Arthur says this, Lyanna rolls her eyes and mouths _apologize_ ) and the rest is history.

“I had to ask to be removed from all of Jon's games,” Arthur says. “Conflict of interest, you know.”

“How noble,” Lyanna says, but Sansa can hear the love underneath it.

* * *

Sitting on a couch with Lyanna Snow with a camera pointed at them is Sansa's new worst nightmare. _Is this how Jon felt?_ Sitting with her parents with a television crew standing around?

Cersei has to keep feeding Lyanna questions and Sansa is _sure_ that Lyanna is moments away from snapping, but she seems to be holding herself back. It's then that Sansa is sure Lyanna knows why Jon is doing the show; she's sure that if this were any other situation, Lyanna would not be putting up with production. But she is – not for Jon's dad, Sansa knows. She's doing it for Jon.

“Are you really ready for marriage?” Lyanna asks, and though it's a question prompted by Cersei, Sansa can hear the actual curiosity in her voice. Curiosity and judgment.

Is she ready for marriage?

No.

No, she really isn't. She knows this – it's too soon. She's still not even sure what her actual feelings for Jon are. After their overnight, she's _more_ sure, but they still need time to properly figure themselves out, away from the show and the cameras and all the prying eyes.

What she needs to do is lie. She knows Margaery would say yes, wouldn't bat an eye at it. And who cares if she lies? What does it matter? It's on the tip of her tongue – _yes, I can't wait to marry your son_ , but it never comes out.

“This whole thing,” she starts but Cersei cuts her off with a “ _journey!_ ”

“This whole _journey_ ,” Sansa corrects, “has been so overwhelming and I understand why you have doubts. I'd be lying if I say I don't have my own. But whether I'm ready for marriage or not, what I know – what I'm _sure_ of, is that I want to be with Jon.”

_Tell her you love him_ , she can practically hear Cersei's mind screaming. But she doesn't, she _can't_. Just like she couldn't lie to Jon about it, she can't lie to his mother.

She just hopes Lyanna understands.

* * *

She misses the other girls more than she ever realized she would. She and Margaery will be kept apart for the remaining time and she wishes with everything she has that she could just find out what room Margaery is in and go talk to her. Maybe they could go down to the pool and lounge about like old times.

No, now all she has is her empty hotel room and Sam's occasional visits. She grills him about Gilly and he turns bright red and doesn't even try to deny that he's been talking to her.

Good. At least he and Gilly can have some bit of happiness without any of this extra nonsense.

Once, when she was having a particularly bad morning, she'd begged Sam to use his phone.

“I'll just call Gilly, not my family,” she whines and Sam sighs.

“Sans, you know they'd fire me for that. My dad's protection only goes so far, I'm sure they're looking for any excuse to get rid of me.”

In a moment of absolute frustration she snaps, “would that be such a bad thing?”

He looks like a kicked puppy and makes some excuse and leaves her alone and she spends the rest of the night feeling _terrible_.

* * *

One final date before the proposal.

Sam mentions that the original plan was to have them spend the day on a yacht, but once they arrived in Winterfell for her hometown, production had realized that the North got cold very quickly once autumn hit. It's not _cold_ cold, but there's no way they were going to spend hours in bathing suits on a yacht or swimming in the chilly ocean waters.

Instead, they're sent out on a whale tour and Sansa can't decide if she's disappointed by this or not – on one hand, she might get to see a whale in person, up close! On the other, she really would not have minded a day lounging around with Jon.

Zipped up in a parka with a knit hat pulled low on her brow and a plastic rain poncho billowing around her, she stands at the edge of the boat with Jon behind her, his arms on either side of her waist, gripping onto the rail. The ocean spray is icy and after only ten minutes, her face and her jeans below the poncho and down to her rubber boots are soaked through.

Jon's body is solid and warm behind her and when it finally happens – when a whale finally breaches the surface in a massive wave – she hears him gasp along with her and everything seems worth it.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Sam asks.

_No_.

“Yeah.”

No, she's not. How could anyone be ready for this?

Right now, Margaery is giving her speech. Jon is letting her. He's telling her that she's great, but his heart belongs to someone else. She's crying, sobbing, _heartbroken_. A perfect Bachelorette.

Right now, Sansa is standing in front of her mirror in an elaborate dress. It's not her favorite, but it's the fanciest she owns. Just right for a proposal.

The word makes her stomach rebel and she fights down the urge to vomit – now isn't the time, she'd just have to redo her makeup.

“Car's waiting.”

* * *

It feels like the first night.

The limo door is opened for her and she steps out, making sure her foot is on even ground so that she doesn't stumble getting out. She smooths out her dress and looks down the little pathway to where Jon is standing on the beach.

The autumn wind whips her hair around and she suppresses a shiver and wonders if people watching will realize how cold it is. Or will they just see _beach_ and assume otherwise?

_This is it_ , she thinks as she begins to walk, as the camera follows her down. This is it, this is the end. Just this and then they're done. Just one more hour, one more performance.

And then what?

And then she and Jon ride off into the sunset? That's what the show wants people to think. But the reality is something she's been trying not to look directly at for the past ten days. The reality of _them_. The reality that all of this could so easily fall apart under the weight of real life.

Too soon, she's on the beach and she's thankful for the wooden planked walkway they've set down because gods knows she'd be tripping in her heels in the sand. As it is, her legs feel shaky and it's a miracle she's keeping her balance anyway. But Jon is there, waiting patiently for her, surrounded by tiki torches stuttering in the wind. She can see the final rose on it's podium, can see how they've weighted it down against the gale. Cersei clearly didn't think through a Northern autumn, she thinks, and a bubble of hysterical laughter nearly bursts out, but she fights it back. She hopes the wind makes for terrible audio.

When she's standing before him, all she can hear is the pounding of her own heart and she reaches out and Jon meets her halfway, taking her hands in his and holding them. The speech she had practiced a thousand times over the past week is there in the back of her mind, but it's distant and she can't quite remember the words she's supposed to say.

“Breathe,” she hears Jon say, giving her hands a squeeze and she nods. _Breathe._

She does, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She can picture Cersei off to the side, rolling her eyes, waiting for Sansa to fail at this. Loras yawning. Renly already drinking. All of them, expecting her to slip up. And months from now, the entire nation watching.

Gilly would be cheering her on, if she were here. Sansa knows Sam is – somewhere, stuck behind the production line, he's rooting for her. If Margaery were here, she'd tell Sansa to not let them get to her.

“Jon,” she starts, voice shaky and too quiet, she knows. “When I came here, I didn't expect anything. Actually, I think I expected you to send me home the first night.” Jon gives a little smile at that and she can feel his thumbs rubbing circles against the backs of her hands. “I was lost - not just in love, but I had lost _myself_. I was so sure I'd never find me again. But over the weeks, I found a sort of courage and strength that I thought I'd lost, or thought I'd never had to begin with. And part of that is because of _you_. I didn't think it was possible to feel this much this quickly-” to her absolute _horror_ , she hears her voice break and the tears well up, unbidden. She wasn't supposed to cry, that wasn't a part of the plan. “I didn't think it was possible to fall for someone this hard,” she tries to continue as her voice wavers and her throat tightens. “But I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you. I've never felt for anyone the way I feel for you.”

There are more things she's supposed to say, but she can't – she can't say anything else or she'll truly lose it. She's crying on national television _again_ and this time it's because she absolutely believes what she's saying. And she believes all the things she hasn't said, the things they wouldn't let her put in her speech – part of the reason is you, Jon, and part of it was Gilly and Margaery and Val and Arianne and Myranda and all the other girls, but it was also _me._ I found myself again because of _me_. And I found you along the way and it's more than I ever could have dreamed.

“Sansa,” Jon's steady voice breaks through her thoughts and she looks into his calm grey eyes and feels herself relax. “The first night I met you, I couldn't believe you were real. I couldn't believe you were here to date _me_. That never went away, really. Through the weeks, I saw your kindness, I saw how much you _cared_. You made me feel more like myself than I've felt in a very long time. I'm not great with words and I know I'm not the best at expressing myself, but I promise that I'll never leave you in the dark again.”

At that, it begins - _this is it_.

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the little square box and her heart lurches into her throat.

_This is what we talked about_ , she reminds herself.

And it's just as he's beginning to lower himself to one knee that she reaches out and says, “stop.”

Production is silent, all she can hear is the wind whipping around them, the autumn air off the ocean growing fiercer as the minutes tick by.

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head as Jon stands back up to his full height, hand still clutching the box with what she's sure is a very large, very expensive diamond ring inside it. She wonders which one he picked out, what Illyrio's selections were like this season. Maybe she'll find out when this airs.

“Jon,” she reaches out and places her hand over his holding the box, “I don't need a ring. I've never needed a ring, I just need you.”

He looks down at the box for a moment, held in both of their hands, and then back up at her and she can see the smile he's fighting against. And then he shrugs and pulls his hand from hers and tosses the box to the side, into the sand, and she thinks she can hear a few gasps from production.

“I don't need a ring, either,” he says, losing the battle against his smile. It's there, suddenly, in full force, lopsided and carefree, crinkling up the corners of his eyes. “I pick you, Sansa Stark, if you'll have me.”

“I pick you, Jon Snow,” she laughs through the tears that are still falling freely down her cheeks and then he cups her face in both hands and kisses her. She can taste the salt of her own tears and she kisses him fiercely, gripping the lapels of his suit.

It feels like a triumph, standing there on the beach with the cold Northern wind swirling around them. All the times she'd almost let it slip – to Sam, to Lyanna – that this was their plan. She doesn't even want to try to imagine what Cersei would have done if she'd found out.

(“ _This wasn't how I expected it,” Jon had whispered to her, laying across from her in bed, and she had agreed. She wanted to get married some day, but being forced into an engagement only two months after meeting someone was not how either of them had ever planned it. But then - “there's nothing in my contract that says I have to propose.”_ )

Some day, she thinks dizzily as they break apart. Some day he'll propose for real (who knows, maybe _she_ will). But when that day comes, it will be for _them_.

“You need to give her the rose,” Brienne's unemotional voice drags her back to reality.

Sansa takes a moment before she finally gathers the courage to look over at production, and she can see that Cersei is _seething._ But really, what can she do? Jon is truly under no contractual obligation to propose and both Sansa and Cersei know that even _just dating_ is better than Jon picking no one at all. The show may like it's drama, but what the audience wants is a happy ending – what the Bachelor _sells_ is romance.

Jon steps back, just barely, and reaches down to grab the final rose and he holds it between them and says, “Sansa, will you accept this rose?”

“Yes,” she sniffs, taking it from his hands and fighting against another round of tears.

_It's over_.

She kisses Jon again and she keeps kissing him – through production cutting and the breaking down of the set – and she doesn't stop until they're pulled apart for the final interview.

“What does a ring matter?” she grins at the camera, holding out her bare hand for it to see. The wind is still wild around them and her hair must be a fright but she doesn't _care_. “I don't need a ring to prove that we belong together.” When she looks at Jon, she can see him smiling softly at her, he's not even paying attention to the camera or Cersei.

“Jon?” Cersei prompts, voice tight with restrained annoyance.

Jon just shrugs and never takes his eyes off of Sansa and he says, “what she said.” And then he kisses her, slow and deliberate, a calm center in the swirling wind and bustle of production shutting down around them.

When they finally break apart, Cersei has left, but the camera is still on them and Sam stands behind it, beaming at them.

“Are you happy?” Sam asks and Sansa knows it's half a joke, but she answers anyway.

“I'm happy,” she tells Sam, tells the camera, tells the _world_. “Are you happy, Jon?”

“A bit hungry, actually,” he rubs at his stomach and she punches him in the arm, which makes him laugh. “Very happy,” he smiles and then his arms are back around her and he leans down to kiss her again.

“I think that about wraps it up,” she hears Sam say, but she doesn't pay attention.

It's _over_.

* * *

The rest is a whirlwind.

They're carted off to different hotels and shoved into different rooms and are given different flights the next day. She listens to Sam's instructions about her contractual obligations after the show – she isn't allowed to see Jon except for the designated weekends where production will rent them some house in the middle of nowhere and cart each of them there secretly. She isn't allowed to tell anyone but her immediate family the ending. She isn't allowed to post anything on social media that might spoil the show. The show will provide her with production approved photos to post on Instagram the day the episode airs, if she wants.

She's given Jon's number, but forced to enter it in her phone under an alias and she chooses Aemon and the memory of his fight with Arya makes her smile.

She hopes there are more – more of his fights with Arya over nonsense and talks with her dad and Robb about football and family dinners, but this time without cameras. She knows the odds, knows how few relationships make it off the show and maybe she's crazy, but she thinks they're different.

She hopes they're different.

In the airport, she sits with Sam with a hat pulled low to hide her face, just in case. She knows the cast list has been released, knows her photo and bio are on the show's website, knows her name is being thrown around for brackets and bets, knows podcast hosts are reading her description aloud and picking it apart. Her phone is clutched in her hand, nearly shaking with the effort to not look anything up. _That way lies madness_ , she thinks. If it's this hard to resist now, what will it be like in two months when the show actually starts airing?

The first thing she had done with her phone was call home, and she'd broken down in her hotel room at the sound of her mother's voice. Mom had put her on speakerphone and dad and Bran and Rickon had joined in and Sansa had wished desperately that Arya and Robb still lived at home. She'd called them after.

“ _I guess I won_ ,” she'd told Arya through her never-ending tears.

“ _Of course you did, how could anyone not pick you?_ ” had been Arya's sighed reply.

A voice over the intercom announces her flight and Sam stands with her.

“You have my number?” he checks and she nods. “And Gilly's?”

“We've been texting constantly,” she reminds him.

“Good, that's good.” Sam doesn't seem to know what to do with himself as the first group is called to board – she'll be in the next group according to her ticket.

“Sam, you know I wouldn't have gotten through this without you, right?” She watches the flush of red creep up his neck and for a moment she swears he looks teary eyed.

“I think you would've done just fine on your own,” he tells her and she doesn't argue.

Because maybe she would have.

Maybe she would have had the strength to do this on her own.

“Well, then I'm glad I didn't have to.”

When her group is called she leaves Sam standing in the terminal with a hug and another whispered _thank you_.

One short plane ride and then she'll be home. Dad will be waiting for her at the airport and the rest of her family will be at the house with her favorite dinner prepared and her favorite desserts.

Just as she's about to put her phone on airplane mode, it vibrates with a text and her heart leaps when she sees it's from Aemon.

_Hi_

She smiles down at her phone and types back.

_Hi_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? It's almost like being on vacation gives me a ton of time to write these behemoth chapters...
> 
> OK, this is not the end, but to be completely honest, I have not exactly decided how this is going to continue. My original plan was to have an After the Final Rose chapter (aka the reunion special), but I'm not sure how this will play out from here. I know a lot of you wanted more on Jon's experience and perspective, but I don't think I'll write anything from his POV in this story because it would honestly hurt my soul to switch POVs randomly at the end.
> 
> So, right now I'm planning on one more chapter (but let's be real – if you've followed me on any other story where I've given an approximate chapter count, you'll know I'm a wordy bitch who always goes too long, as you can tell by the fact that the last bunch of chapters have been about 2-3k words over what I intended) 
> 
> Before we get to Bach facts, there's something I want to address: is it realistic that they would get to the finale and never say “I love you” to each other? No. I have never once seen a season where they didn't. Maybe the older ones, who knows, but everyone says it. Like, a lot. Most contestants say some variation of it starting pretty early on. I don't know if it's contractual or if they're just pressured into it or they genuinely want to, but you know what? This is my fic and I'm writing what I want.
> 
> Bach facts will be on theme today! 
> 
> Out of the 24 completed seasons, 9 Bachelors did not propose at the finale (only one of the 16 Bachelorettes did not get engaged, Jen Schefft who turned down two proposals lmao).
> 
> Of the 9, 8 of those Bachelors did choose a winner without proposing. Only one, Brad Womack (in his first go as Bachelor), chose neither final girl, even to date after the show. Some notable selections of the other 8: first ever Bachelor Alex Michel, season 7 Bachelor Charlie O'Connell (brother to Jerry O'Connell who you may know from a multitude of things but I can only see as the guy who sang 'I Think I Love You' in Scream 2), season 18 Bachelor Juan Pablo (aka the worst. I did not watch his season but every clip I've ever seen has filled me with an unimaginable rage), and, most recently, season 23's Colton Underwood.
> 
> Once again, I would like to thank anyone who is reading this for joining me on this *journey*. I've said this before, but when I started writing this, it was because I was in a really bad headspace and couldn't handle writing anything that I felt was too heavy. So the Bachelor it was! Dumb nonsense, I told myself. And yet this has turned into maybe one of my favorite things - writing it has been incredibly fun, as has interacting with everyone here. I can't tell you enough how much I love and appreciate your comments, how much I enjoy talking about and explaining this ridiculous mess of a show and hearing all of your thoughts and reactions. Even if you haven't commented, I love and appreciate you as well.


	11. After the Final Rose

As her car pulls up to the studio, she feels it – the rush of dread that's been wonderfully missing for nearly five months.

It's a different kind of dread, she thinks as she steps out of the car, than the one she feels before the airing of every episode. _That_ dread is quieter and it starts from the moment one episode ends to the moment the next one begins – a rising crescendo of anxiety building throughout the week (trying desperately not to look at Twitter or listen to podcasts or read recaps, though she never quite manages to stop herself). No, this dread is different, sharper.

Cersei will be in there.

Cersei, Loras, Mel.

Cameras.

An audience.

_Gods_ , what she wouldn't give to not be here. What she wouldn't give to be back home, just watching the episode with her family as usual (she conveniently forgets that for the past nine weeks, that has been it's own specific kind of nightmare). What she wouldn't give to be at Jon's, curled up in bed with Ghost on one side and Jon on the other, watching some dumb action flick or period drama and pretending the world doesn't exist.

Because that's what they've been doing, really, these past few months – pretending the real world doesn't exist. Pretending the show doesn't exist when they're together, pretending they aren't breaking their contracts by secretly meeting up (ignoring that if production ever found out, they'd both be in trouble for breach of contract).

That's all ending tonight.

The final episode, live in front of a studio audience, and then After the Final Rose.

After tonight, everyone will know.

After tonight, it will be real - real in a way both she and Jon have been trying not to think about for five months.

(And she realizes, somewhere deep and horrible within herself, that it's not the general public she's worried about, it's everything else – it's finally having to meet his friends, it's him having to meet hers. It's family dinners and public outings and everything else that comes with a real relationship. What they've been doing has been a lie, a cozy little dream. Somewhere deep and horrible within herself, she doesn't want it to change. She wants to keep everyone else out because the reality is she isn't sure what happens when it's _real_.)

* * *

Loras leads her through the studio, a labyrinth of hallways and rooms and after only a short while, she stops trying to remember what doors they've gone through. She came in one of the back entrances, though she's not sure why there's so much secrecy. Last episode ended with Arianne's tearful goodbye and now it's just her and Margaery, so it's not like her arrival at the studio would be a spoiler. But whatever, let them have their clandestine entrances, she just needs to get through the next few hours.

She tries not to, but each time they pass an open door, she looks in, even though she knows Jon won't be there (but what if he _is_ ). With the show wrapping up and the number of contestants dwindling per episode, meeting up in secret became a risk neither of them were willing to take. Not for Sansa's sake, the show could sue her all they wanted, she doesn't have much – but if Jon were caught, if someone snapped a photo and started spreading it around, his breach of contract meant much more than hers.

_I can handle the money_ , Jon had told her, all those weeks ago. _It's Rhae and Egg I'm worried about_.

So texts and phone calls it was (though those were getting harder, too - the phone calls. He was back at training and she was busier, herself. Not to mention she has a roommate now, so late night calls were out of the question.)

Just as they're arriving at an elevator, Mel comes out from another hallway with- oh _gods_ , Illyrio? Illyrio Mopatis, famed jeweler to the stars and the official ring provider for The Bachelor. Sansa would recognize him anywhere – she'd seen him countless times on countless seasons, offering up a selection of gaudy, impossibly shiny rings.

Mel and Loras exchange a series of pleasantries so rehearsed that Sansa knows immediately this was meant to happen – she was meant to see Illyrio and the ridiculous metal briefcase with a code lock that he's carrying. She's _meant_ to see it, she knows this and tries to not let it get to her, but her stomach lurches anyway.

There's no way. There's _no way_ Jon would propose. She knows this, the rational part of her brain keeps calmly explaining this to her, but the other part of her brain – the nonsense, anxiety driven part – is panicking, drowning out the logic.

_What if he proposed tonight?_

Would she say yes?

She would have to, right? How does a relationship survive a turned down proposal, live on air in front of millions of viewers? It doesn't.

_Jon isn't going to propose!_

After a very tense elevator ride (well, tense for _her,_ the others seemed just fine), she and Loras split off and head towards a dressing room set up for her. She hangs her dress bag on the rack and tries not to pay attention to Loras.

If only Sam were here, she thinks, but shakes it quickly out of her head. Sam _isn't_ here.

* * *

The wait is agonizing.

She'll have to stay locked up in this little dressing room for the next hour and a half while the last episode airs. It's almost time for it to start when Margaery bursts in, grin on her face.

“Sansa!” she squeals and Sansa finds herself swept up in a fierce hug that she returns.

They've texted some in the last few months, mostly about the show, sometimes about fashion and celebrities, but that's the extent of their off-show friendship.

“I can't believe they let you out,” Sansa laughs when Margaery finally lets her go.

“Well,” Margaery says with a wink, “I'm much more manageable than you are. They're not afraid I'm going to run away mid-show.”

“Fair,” Sansa sighs. “So I take it that means you got it?”

Margaery gives a shrug, but the smile that curls her lips up gives Sansa her answer.

Good. No one has worked harder at getting Bachelorette than Margaery. Sure, Sansa liked the other girls and she still feels horrible for Arianne (and even some of the others, if what they said during the episodes were actually true), but she honestly doesn't wish this show on any of them. Arianne was already dragged through this once, and while Sansa is sure Arianne is strong enough to survive it again, she hopes Arianne can find her own happiness without all the cameras and manipulation.

“So, I saw Illyrio,” Margaery gives her a sweet smile and waggles her eyebrows and the swooping, horrible feeling in her stomach is back.

“I don't know why he's here,” she says with more confidence than she feels. “Jon isn't going to propose, we agreed.”

“You don't want to get engaged?” Margaery frowns and leans back against the dressing room table. “Have you _seen_ to rocks Illyrio is packing?”

“Yes,” she sighs, “I've seen the show before.” (She leaves out that honestly, the giant diamonds aren't exactly her style. Maybe they would have been when she was younger, but now they just remind her of something Harry would have bought her.)

“You're allowed to change your mind,” Margaery says. “I mean, if Jon didn't want to, but you do...”

_It was my idea_ , Sansa almost says, but then she stops and looks at the way Margaery is leaning – oh so casually, like she's not even interested in the conversation at all.

“Did they send you?” is what comes out instead, a familiar swirl of nausea and anger churning in the pit of her stomach. (She remembers this feeling well.)

“You know what they want,” Margaery sighs with a roll of her eyes. “And Jon's apparently being stubborn about it. All you'd have to do is give him a call or send him a text – I'm sure they'd even let you go see him in person. And just, you know, maybe...”

“Marg,” she interrupts, and now there's the other too-familiar sensation of tears stinging at the back of her eyes, “if you want us to keep being friends at all, don't finish that sentence.”

For whatever it's worth at this point, Margaery snaps her mouth shut and doesn't continue, doesn't say _tell Jon you want him to propose tonight. Tell him to pick a ring out._

“You're going to be the best Bachelorette they've ever had,” she says and from the way Margaery flinches, Sansa can tell she understands it wasn't a compliment.

It's also a goodbye and Margaery seems to understand that, too, because she gives a tentative smile and leaves the room.

_That's one_ , she thinks. One person down. How many more from this show will she lose once it's done? Once the episodes stop airing and the group chat dies out. Who else will she lose? Myranda? Roslin? Mya? Gilly? Val?

( _Jon?_ )

* * *

There's a TV in her dressing room on a live feed of the studio – the audience that she had watched fill up the seats, the chair and couch set up in the center for interviews, the giant screen everyone will be watching the finale on.

It begins to play a recap of the last episode and she hears Renly's familiar voiceover start the introductions.

_How will he chose?_

_The hardest decision he's ever had to make._

_The most dramatic season finale ever._

She wants to roll her eyes. _The hardest decision he's ever had to make_. Yeah right. And would anything be more dramatic than Clarice telling off Mikel during the eleventh season finale? _Sansa_ hadn't picked up and swung a podium at Jon's head.

When the audience starts screaming, she focuses back on the TV to watch Renly walk out on stage, waving at the gathered crowd of excited women in their jewel-toned tops. He gives a second introduction and then on the giant screen, the show starts and the audience quiets down.

She looks around for the remote, but she can't seem to find it and she tries to find a manual mute button on the TV, but can't find that, either. All she sees is a power button and she seriously considers just turning it off, except... well, it's nice to see Jon's face, and the TV is the only way to really tell time in here, since Loras had taken her phone (she supposes she could have gotten it back if she agreed to force Jon into an engagement, so she decides being phoneless for a few hours is worth it).

And so she sits through it – she watches herself meet Lyanna and Arthur (watches Ghost pounce on Jon and it makes her laugh just as much as it had the first time). She hates the doubt in Lyanna's voice when she gives solo interviews and Sansa tries not to take it personally, tries to remind herself that Lyanna had no way of knowing that what Jon felt was real.

_(Was it real?)_

Watching Margaery interact with Lyanna is more amusing than anything else – it's a relief, honestly, to only have Margaery left. There's no anxiety over Margaery's feelings for Jon, no worry about how hurt she'll be after this.

_(No worry that Jon actually enjoyed kissing her.)_

Lyanna seems even more skeptical during Margaery's visit and that gives Sansa some vague sense of satisfaction.

It seems like Sansa's last date fell through because of the weather, but the show still got one of the girls into a bikini – Margaery apparently got a hot tub and wine date while Sansa was bundled up into multiple layers for her whale watching. It doesn't bother her, honestly, and the fact that she's covered nearly head to toe on screen takes away a bit of the vulnerability of watching herself on TV.

As usual, Jon's interviews are rote and he's clearly saying lines given to him by the producers. She's become a master at reading Jon's tone, at reading his face. She can tell when he's being Bachelor Jon and when he's just Jon. It's rare, but it happens (usually with her, which makes her feel warm down to the tips of her toes). Margaery's interviews are also clearly practiced, but Sansa thinks she could have been an actress with the way she sells it.

Margaery loves Jon, she can't imagine her life without him. She's picturing children and a slew of dogs (Margaery doesn't even want dogs, she'd admitted once to Sansa in a side chat - said Ghost was too big and energetic for her tastes and there was too much fur everywhere).

Sansa's own interviews are shakier and she hates watching them. Jeyne calls them _real_ , but they make Sansa cringe so hard she sometimes has to press her hands over her ears to try and drown them out. A few times, she's had to walk out of the room (much to her family's protests). It's no different now, except she has nowhere to go and it's either turn the TV off completely (which she debates) or pace the room and pretend it's not happening (which she does, along with the occasional _no!_ yelled at the TV to drown out the sound of her own voice).

Then it's time for the proposal and when, on screen, a limo pulls up and Margaery's heel steps out, the crowd gasps and Sansa almost laughs. She wonders if they're actually surprised or if they're just having fun with the drama, like she used to. Everyone knows the first girl out doesn't win. Margaery walks gracefully down to the beach where Jon is waiting, and sure enough, gives a long, emotional speech. By the end of it, she's crying soft tears and Sansa actually claps at the TV for the performance. When Jon turns her down ( _his heart belongs to someone else,_ he says, and her stomach does a flip that has nothing to do with anxiety or nausea or anger), Margaery _can't_ believe it. She put herself out there, gave her heart to him completely. She's so confused and she didn't see this coming. Jon walks her back to the limo and on the drive away, she cries _beautifully_. (Sansa has learned the hard way that when _she_ cries, she absolutely does not look this nice. No, Sansa gets red and blotchy and her eyes puff up and her nose runs and it's not a good look _at all_.)

And then it's her – it's her limo and her heel stepping out and after some gasps and murmurs, the audience goes nearly silent. Sansa watches herself walk – she can see how tense she is, but is it just because she's remembering it? Can the audience tell?

She hates her speech, hates the way she cries, hates the way her voice breaks. She meant every word of that speech, but it should have been for Jon only, not these people. Not the audience and the cameras and production. They'll always have this piece of her.

The murmurs grow when Jon starts to speak, when he reaches into his suit for the box and pulls it out. There's an excitement rippling through the crowd and it's _so strange_ to her that these people are so invested in her and Jon. They don't even know her! And yet, watching this live, watching them _react_ live, there's a small part of her that feels a sort of warmth at how much they seem to care. It's the same sort of feeling she gets every time she sees a supportive tweet – it wavers between gratitude for the people defending her and revulsion of the ones who seem to be _obsessed_ and she doesn't think she'll ever get used to either.

She lets out a short burst of laughter when the crowd _gasps_ as she stops Jon from getting down on one knee. _This is it_ , she thinks, as TV-Sansa tells Jon she doesn't need a ring. Either everyone will hate this or not. An even bigger gasp when Jon throws the ring box aside, and a swell of murmurs – _I pick you, Sansa Stark, if you'll have me_. There's a cheer from the audience and-

The door opens abruptly and she nearly jumps out of her skin as Loras enters. Behind her, on the TV, she can hear the final interviews – her grinning widely with tears still fresh on her cheeks and Jon kissing her and barely saying a word.

“You need to get dressed,” Loras says as he eyes the gown hanging on the clothes rack. She's spent the last few months working on this dress (and she's always been confident in her designs, but now that everyone knows she made the ones she wore on the show, she feels a strange pressure to outdo herself tonight). “Marg is up first, then it's you.”

She's not sure if she's grateful for the distraction or not. In the background, she can hear the crowd screaming as Jon is brought out and she takes a moment to watch him cross the stage ( _I'll be there_ , she had promised, _I'll be watching you the whole time_.) She keeps her promise as she strips off the clothes she arrived in. It doesn't bother her that Loras is there and he helps her into her dress when she needs it. The whole time, Renly interviews Jon and it's definitely Bachelor Jon out there, talking about how hard it was to choose between the final two (a lie), how much he respects Margaery (not a lie), how bad he feels for hurting her (a lie on both their parts).

And then soon enough, Margaery is brought out to cheers from the audience and she sits with Jon and they go over – again and again – his rejection. _This has been covered_ , Sansa thinks as Shae comes in and touches up her makeup and hair. They covered this in the episode, they covered this in the solo interview with Jon, and now they're talking again about Margaery's heartbreak. _Gotta sell the story_.

When Renly announces the break, she knows it's time, and Loras hustles her out of the room and down to the stage, just in time for Renly to announce that they're back from commercial. And then Renly says her name and-

Loras pushes her out onto the set and she nearly stumbles, but manages to keep herself upright. The audience is cheering and it sounds _so loud_ and the lights are _so bright_ and _gods_ , how does anyone _do this_? She feels dizzy as she makes her way to the couches, but then her eyes land on Jon and everything else seems to settle into a dull roar in the back of her mind.

It's been _weeks_ since she's seen him in person and all she wants to do is run over to him and just... just _touch_ him. He stands from the couch as she steps onto the little stage and his hand immediately reaches out when she's close enough and she nearly sighs in relief when her hand is in his. He sits after she does and she finds herself giving him one of her dumb, giddy smiles that she's seen too often on screen.

“Hi,” she grins, giving his hand a squeeze and he returns it.

“Hi,” he says back and he smiles for the first time tonight (ok, maybe he smiled before, but let her _have this_ ).

“Hi,” Renly cuts in and from the tone of his voice, she can almost _hear_ the eye roll. He doesn't seem annoyed with them, though, and there's a definite quirk to his lips. He became much friendlier after their non-proposal and she honestly thinks it has to do with how infuriated Cersei was. Renly might not love _them_ , but he definitely loves a pissed off Cersei.

“I guess there's a congratulations in order,” he teases. “Though, still no ring?”

“Still no ring,” she agrees and holds up her bare hand for everyone to see.

“And that's...”

“Exactly what we want,” she laughs, because otherwise she might scream.

She knew this was coming, they'd prepped her on the questions Renly would ask and she practiced her answers, but it's still frustrating. They'd been hinting at a proposal for weeks now and after today's little show with Margaery, she's officially annoyed. She gets that this show peddles in love stories, but she doesn't understand why an engagement has to be the ultimate representation of that. It's infuriating and regressive, but that's the show – as the world moves on around it, the show stays stuck in the same tropes it's been mired in since the beginning. Sure, they pretend to grow with the times, pay lip service to change, but the core of it remains the same.

Renly and Jon are talking as she comes out of her thoughts, and she immediately relaxes as she hears Jon talk about her – how she caught his eye night one, but he was too scared to pursue it right away. How she was a constant through the weeks, how much he came to rely on her presence. How he was never sure if she felt the same way.

It's all half truths and exaggerations, Jon had given her the real story (usually via text as the episodes aired), but it's close enough.

“And Jon, you have no plans to propose...” Renly prompts with a sly smile and a waggle of his eyebrows and she hears the audience _ooh_ and _aah_ and she's suddenly reminded of – what's that movie? The teen movie where a girl has to kill a bunch of people for the entertainment of the nation and then she's brought on for an interview with a ridiculous man in a gaudy suit? Sansa's suddenly reminded of that.

“When I'm ready to propose, I will,” Jon says diplomatically, but she can feel how tense he gets, can feel his hand tighten around hers. She gets the sense that she's not the only one production has been hounding for weeks, and she can't imagine what nonsense they must have tried today with Illyrio. “For now, Sansa and I are incredibly happy together.”

“Sansa?” Renly asks.

“We want to do this right,” she tells Renly. “An engagement is a big deal for the both of us, it's something we take very seriously and it's not something we want to rush into. We want to make this work, and if that means not getting one of Illyrio's gorgeous rings, well, it's a shame, but I'll survive.”

It's close enough to the truth, though she leaves out the part where they don't want the show to have more pieces of them, and she adds in the Illyrio bit to keep them happy.

Renly seems to get some sign from production because he wraps it up quickly after that, signing off for another commercial break.

Sansa slumps back onto the couch when they cut, and she hears Jon let out a deep sigh, bringing his free hand up to rub at his face. Renly stands and so do she and Jon, and Renly shakes Jon's hand and then kisses hers.

“Cersei is going to be _seething_ ,” he grins and winks at them. “Thanks for that.”

“We live to ruin her plans,” Jon shrugs and it gets a small laugh out of Renly.

“Well, I assume this will be the last I see of you two, unless you're planning on coming back for some cameos?” At that, he raises one eyebrow and they all know it's a joke and so neither Jon nor Sansa answer. They leave the stage - leave Renly behind to prepare for the announcement of the next Bachelorette.

No, they won't be back. She is never, _ever_ coming back on this show. Once was very much enough, thank you. Tonight Margaery will officially be named Bachelorette and she and Jon will be old news. They'll be _done_.

They follow a PA off stage and they walk by a very thin-lipped Cersei, who doesn't even bother to say anything, which Sansa is grateful for. Brienne is waiting with their phones and bags and she hands them over with... well, what Sansa would consider a _smile_ from Brienne.

Somewhere outside the studio, a car is waiting for them. Somewhere in King's Landing, there's a hotel with their name on it, and this time there will be no production crew to watch them go inside. They'll be able to spend the night together and there will be no sneaking around or worrying about getting caught and breaking contract.

  
The minute they walk out of this studio, it will just be _them_. 

She wonders if they'll make it.

There's a part of her that's sure, a part of her that looks at Jon and sees the future in a way she never had with any of her past boyfriends. She sees days spent working and nights spent together, on the couch and watching TV with Ghost curled at their feet. She sees weekend getaways and holidays spent with family and yes, someday a ring and a wedding and kids. She sees a _life_.

There's the other part of her, though – smaller, but sometimes louder, somehow. The part that tells her she's unlovable. That once all the pressure of the show and then the excitement of sneaking around has worn off, Jon will realize that she's a dull nobody and he's an internationally famous football player _and_ had been the Bachelor and he could get literally any woman he wants. He'll get bored of her, annoyed with her, he'll realize he made the wrong choice. He'll leave.

“Hey,” Jon murmurs and tugs on her hand, which snaps her out of her thoughts. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” she breathes as the nerves in her stomach flutter and threaten to spill out her throat. “Just...”

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice low and hesitant. _He understands_ , she realizes. He's worried, too.

She turns to face him fully, ignoring the studio exit door where their car is waiting outside. “We can do this,” she tells him and it's only half bravado.

He doesn't answer; instead he reaches up to cup her jaw in one hand and he smooths his thumb over her cheekbone and then leans forward and kisses her – slow and steady and just like him.

“We can do this,” she repeats in a whisper once he's pulled back.

He nods and takes her hand and they walk out the studio door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, it's been a ride (though not necessarily the end?)
> 
> As I've said multiple times, I never thought ANYONE would want to read this, let alone enjoy it. I am overwhelmed and incredibly grateful to all of you. I have loved writing this and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Thank you for reading, for kudos, for commenting. For putting up with my long-winded notes and comment replies. Thank you for letting me ramble about Jonsa and The Bachelor for... like 65k words, which is insane.
> 
> In regards to why I have ended it here: this fic is about the show, and so I have kept it to the show, which means the filming and the filming of ATFR. I honestly had a lot of ideas of what went on between the end of filming and ATFR, but I didn't want this fic to suddenly turn into something else completely and drag on forever. What I am debating doing, and honestly leaning towards, is doing a second story that follows their life off-show - everything that happened between chapters 10 & 11 and maybe even on after. I'm not really someone who does 'slice of life' stories with no real plot and no real end goal, but I have genuinely loved writing this universe and kind of don't want it to end.
> 
> So that's it for now. If I decide to do a follow up story, you'll see it.... eventually?
> 
> Thank you all again, a thousand times over.


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